


Against All Odds

by Mishafied



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Copious Amounts Of Swearing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, because why the hell not, everyone climbs mountains, too much fucking snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4999597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishafied/pseuds/Mishafied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik is no fool; he always knew that someday, something would go wrong on that mountain. But he'd always hoped that when it did, it wouldn't be his best friend whose life hung in the balance. Now, with a climber stranded and a storm rolling in, the only hope left is a daring, near hopeless rescue attempt that will put six lives on the line and test their willpower and resolve past any limits they once had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is completed and edited, but I'm posting it in three parts over three days, because it's about 26k words and I feel better with it in digestible chunks.
> 
> Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't actually climb mountains. I occasionally climb stairs. Therefore, all climbing knowledge and Everest specific knowledge comes from my insatiable love of documentaries and articles, and obsessive research. I aimed for the best of accuracy, but there will probably still be mistakes here and there. 
> 
> Enjoy!

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_"Because it is there."_ **

**_George Mallory (1886-1924), in answer to the question 'Why do you want to climb Mt. Everest ?'._ **

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

When people thought of climbing Everest, they probably imagined desolation. A harsh slab of rock, some tents, freeze dried food, that sort of thing. Malik knew better.

 

Base camp had its own culture, its own social hierarchy, and if he had to describe it, it would be less of a ‘camp’ and more of a small village. Each expedition had its own staging area, but there was also a massive mess tent, where the Sherpas created three hot meals a day for the climbers. You could buy nearly anything you needed here; crampons, ropes, whatever you may have left behind accidentally. You could probably come in jeans and a t-shirt and outfit yourself completely at base camp with the overpriced on site gear, if you wanted.

 

And most surprisingly for the novices on the mountain, it was loud. After four years of coming to base camp and helping to manage the expedition for Seven Summits Adventure Guides, Malik was used to the various noises of camp. Crampons crunched on the ice as teams prepared to move up to camp one for acclimatization, the bells on the yaks signaled the arrived of new teams, and people yelled into their radios as if yelling would somehow help the person on the other end hear them better (hint: it didn’t).

 

And right now, that noise was mainly coming from the Italian expedition that had arrived two days before.

 

It wasn’t anything unusual, and really, people put up with more shit from the Italians than they might from any of the other expeditions. That was mainly because the Italians brought the most trusted doctor with high elevation experience; Leonardo was not only a doctor, but an experienced climber as well. Climbers were more willing to listen to a doctor who had five of the ten tallest mountains in the world under his belt, after all.

 

But Leonardo came as a package deal with his boyfriend, Ezio, the guide for the company that ran the Italian expedition, Summit Heroes of Italy. Ezio was young, brash, and overconfident at times- and right now, he was having a party with his clients.

 

Malik could tell which of the climbers reaching base camp had never been there before; they all looked appalled at the booming music and laughter coming from the main tent of the Italian expedition. The people who were returning climbers didn’t bat an eye.

 

“Are they really having a _party_?” Kadar asked, stopping next to where Malik stood by their tent. Speaking of new climbers…

 

“Ezio Auditore. Guide for Summit Heroes of Italy,” Malik explained, tipping his bottled water toward the green, red, and white tent. “He tends to try and turn his section of base camp into a frat party.”

 

“Doesn’t he take this seriously? He’s a guide,” Kadar said, and Malik gave him a sharp look.

 

“I would hold your tongue before you say things like that at this camp,” he said, looking back at the Italian camp. “Ezio lost his father and older brother on K2 four years ago. He is cocky, but he is an excellent climber. He has no illusions about the climb itself being a party.”

 

“Oh,” Kadar said, having the sense to look sheepish about what he’d said. Granted, throwing a party at base camp could seem insensitive to the seriousness of the climb ahead- but if anyone knew how serious things could get, it was Ezio. In his own words, he always threw a party before a climb because ‘if I am going to die on that mountain, I want the last few nights to be good ones with happy memories’.

 

“You still have time to change your mind,” Malik pointed out, and it was Kadar’s turn to glare at him.

 

“I’m not going home, Malik. I want to do this.”

 

“But with _Altaïr_?”

 

“Dude, he works for your company, wouldn’t you want me to go with him?”

 

“You seem to think he is infallible.”

 

“He’s summited Everest four times. I’d say that’s a pretty good track record.”

 

Malik sneered. “Everest is not the only thing on his ‘track record’,” he said, his hand twitching as he resisted the urge to reach over to where his left arm used to be. Kadar stared at him for a few long moments, and then shook his head.

 

“You’re never going to stop holding that over his head, are you?”

 

“I do not ‘hold it over his head’. He knows I don’t blame him for what happened,” Malik insisted. “He’s a decent enough guide. I just don’t trust the two of you together. You feed his ego.”

 

Kadar rolled his eyes. “You’re hopeless,” he muttered. “You would rather have me with the other American expedition? Or the British?”

 

“At least Miles and Hastings tend to stick to the rules.”

 

Kadar shook his head. “You know, for calling him your best friend, you have surprisingly little faith in him,” he said, and then he turned and headed for the mess tent. Malik scoffed and took another long drink of his water.

 

He couldn’t help it that he only wanted his little brother climbing with the absolute best guide. And while Altaïr was, without a doubt, an excellent climber, whether or not he was the best _guide_ was still up for debate, at least for Malik.

 

Leah and Jackson strode past toward the main tent, both on their overly expensive cell phones; while they weren’t the stereotypical rich person paying to just hit the summit and call themselves explorers, they certainly weren’t motivated by love of the struggle of climbing. No, Jackson and Leah were a young couple with a lot of money to burn and a bucket list five miles long; they were decent enough climbers, but they were the kind that expected all the research to be done for them. They would need their hands held for a good amount of the climb. Altaïr would have his hands full.

 

If it were up to Malik, he never would have taken them on. Unfortunately, Lucy saw it as a great boost to their business, since Jackson and Leah both ran incredibly popular travel blogs, and were paying triple the normal fee in order to be the only ones in the summit group this year. Kadar was allowed in at the last minute, since he was family and interested in being a future guide for the company himself.

 

Malik sighed and started to follow them; it was time for the on site orientation, and since he was the high camp manager this year, he figured he’d better be there for it.

 

Altaïr was waiting in the main tent with maps pinned to the board that stood against one canvas wall, and he smiled when he saw Malik. “What, not going to the party?”

 

“I do believe you’re the one who insists alcohol inhibits proper acclimatization,” Malik pointed out, stepping over to the desk to look over Lucy’s shoulder at the weather reports she had pulled up. “How is that window looking?”

 

“Holding steady for now,” she said, pulling up a satellite feed. “Hastings, Miles, and Auditore are going to make their summit bid before this system comes in. The Koreans, Serbs, Russians, and Chinese are going to wait till after it passes.”

 

“And what do you want to do?”

 

Lucy sighed, leaning back in her chair. “The Chinese brought a huge group this year. If we try to summit in the same window as them, we could run into a traffic jam up there. It’ll be tight, though, especially if that storm moves faster than expected.”

 

“Desmond and Shaun won’t mind working out a rope system up there between our Sherpas and theirs,” Altaïr pointed out, marking another tricky spot on the map pinned to the board. “Ezio is easy to work with, too. I think we should go for the first window.”

 

Malik stood and walked over to Altaïr, standing close enough that Jackson, Leah, and Kadar, who were talking amongst themselves, wouldn’t overhear. “Can they acclimatize and climb fast enough to make that window? They’re not the same skill level as the groups you’ve led before,” he asked, and Altaïr paused in thought.

 

“I think so. Especially with the Sherpas we have this year,” he said. Malik wasn’t so convinced, but Altaïr was the one who would have to deal with it directly if they weren’t up to the task.

 

“Speaking of that…Malik, Lhakpa had to leave base camp. He injured his ankle on the icefall,” Lucy said, and Malik sighed.

 

“So we only have Chensum and Pemba?” he asked, looking back at Altaïr. “You still think you can make that first window?”

 

Altaïr didn’t even hesitate. “Yes,” he said, stepping back from the map, and Malik narrowed his eyes.

 

“You’re taking my little brother up there, you know,” he said, and Altaïr’s shoulders slumped the slightest bit as he turned to face Malik.

 

“I’ll bring Kadar down that mountain safely. You have my word, whether or not that means much to you these days,” he said, and before Malik could respond, he called their clients’ attention to start the orientation.

 

Malik tried to convince himself that he shouldn’t feel like a jerk, but he couldn’t quite manage it.

 

“Alright, sit down and listen. This stuff is actually important,” Altaïr said, and Jackson, Leah, and Kadar dropped into the folding chairs they had set up. Malik wasn’t as worried about Kadar; he’d come to help at base camp before, and had heard this speech before.

 

The first twenty minutes were spent going over acclimatization again- that they would climb to camp one, spend the night, then come back and rest, then climb up to camp two and do the same, coming back to base camp for a few days after. It was a quick way to boost the amount of red blood cells in the body, to make sure their bodies were ready for the limited oxygen at the higher camps.

 

“I’m going to have time limits getting up to camp one, two, and three. If you don’t make the cutoff, Lucy and I will have a serious discussion about your future on the expedition,” Altaïr explained.

 

“You would send us home without letting us try for the summit?” Jackson asked, and Altaïr nodded.

 

“Damn right I would. You’re not paying me to get you to that summit. You’re paying me to make sure you leave this mountain alive. Otherwise the only thing written on that blog will be an obituary,” he said. “And if me, Lucy, or Malik tell you it’s time to turn around, then you do it.”

 

“The turn around time is 2pm,” Malik added, crossing his arms. “If you’re on the way up to the summit and it hits 2pm, you turn around. I don’t care if you’re ten feet from the summit. Descending in the dark isn’t an option.”

 

“And if you don’t turn around, I’ll order the Sherpa to go back to camp without you. It’s not their job to die with you,” Altaïr added. “They have families to go back to. Your moment of glory is secondary to that.”

 

Jackson and Leah didn’t look happy with the speech, but they didn’t outright object; Malik had the feeling that was the best they could ask for, considering the egos in the room. “Alright,” Altaïr said, the downright serious tone dropped with that part over with. “Tomorrow we start acclimating. We’ll climb up to camp one, stay the night, and then descend back here for two days. Everyone be geared up and ready to start climbing at 3:30. Eat a good breakfast, because the Khumbu Ice Fall is no fuckin’ joke. A member of the French expedition fell into a crevasse three days ago, and he’s lucky he landed on a ledge and they could pull him out with just a broken pelvis. Most of the time, if you fall off one of the ladders, there won’t be a body to send home.”

 

It was a morbid pep talk, but it was par for the course up here, and none of them seemed fazed by it. Jackson and Leah had heard all the horror stories by now, surely; if you went down in the wrong place on Everest, there was no rescue. There often wasn’t even a body retrieval. There was a letter sent home, and that was about it.

 

“And I highly suggest that if you visit the festivities at the Italian camp, you politely turn down whatever alcoholic beverages they might offer you. If you have a headache tomorrow, I’m going to assume it’s altitude sickness first, and hangover second. If you get sat out of climbing because of a hangover headache, you’re the only one to blame.”

 

With that, the meeting came to an end. Malik watched the three climbers leave, and then turned back to Altaïr.

 

“Think we’ll have trouble with them?”

 

Altaïr paused, gold eyes thoughtful. “I think they could be a problem on summit day. They’re the type to get summit fever. They might not listen to reason if things move too slowly.”

 

“I suppose we’ll find out,” Malik said. “I’m going to the Italian camp to see if I can’t find Ezio, Shaun, and Desmond to work things out. You coming?”

 

Altaïr nodded, and the two of them left the relative warmth of the tent, following the sound of music to where the majority of the activity was. The inside of the tent was crowded with climbers, some sitting around flimsy tables on folding chairs, and it was in one corner of the tent that they found Ezio, Leonardo, Shaun, Desmond, and Rebecca all relaxing with some cheap beer.

 

“You’re bad role models,” Malik pointed out with a smirk as he and Altaïr sat down at the end of the table. Ezio grinned.

 

“We’ve done our time, my friend. We’ve earned the privilege,” he pointed out. “Why so few climbers this year? You only have two, si?”

 

“Two trust fund bloggers. They bought up all the extra spots so they wouldn’t have to share with anyone else,” Altaïr said with a low laugh. “Kadar is coming too, though, so I won’t have to deal with them alone.”

 

“Kadar is finally going for the summit this year? And here I thought Malik would keep him pinned down at base camp till he’s fifty,” Desmond teased, and Malik shot him a scowl.

 

“I do not keep him pinned down. I simply wanted him to have the proper experience before he tried,” he said. “And we’re not here to discuss clients, anyway. We’ve all decided to try and summit in the two weeks before the storm front rolls in, so I wanted to arrange who will be setting up the fixed ropes where.”

 

“We already have four Sherpas at camp three. They’re just waiting for the word to set the highest summit ropes,” Shaun said with a shrug, taking a swig of his beer.

 

“Desmond, don’t you have three guys up there too?” Rebecca asked, and Desmond nodded.

 

“Yeah, I have three of mine at camp three. I know you guys are short on help this year, so Shaun’s guys and mine will take care of the ropes from the Balcony up to the Hillary Step.”

 

“And I can have mine work with yours to set the ropes from the South Col to the Balcony,” Ezio said, clapping a hand down on Altaïr’s shoulder. “We must be fast. I do not want to wait until after the storm has passed and have to summit with the other teams.”

 

“I agree with that,” Altaïr said. “Too many fucking climbers this year.”

 

“Happens every year,” Shaun muttered with a shrug. “Did you see the French team this afternoon? The guide was teaching two of the climbers how to use crampons. On fucking Everest, and they don’t know how to use a pair of crampons.”

 

Malik shuddered. “Definitely don’t want to try and make summit on the same day as them,” he said, and then he caught sight of something odd- a strange, small camera that was affixed to the front of Desmond’s climbing helmet, sitting on the table with his gloves. “What is that?”

 

“Desmond’s gonna be a TV star!” Rebecca said, and Shaun rolled his eyes.

 

“Hardly. Desmond has a deal with some blokes filming a daredevil series. They’re doing a show about Everest and wanted some action footage,” he explained, and Desmond nodded.

 

“They’ve got some people here at base camp, going through the footage as it comes in, writing up material, that kind of stuff. I’m just supposed to do like I always do.”

 

“Just what we need. More clueless adrenaline junkies trying to summit,” Altair pointed out, and Desmond laughed.

 

“Who knows, maybe I’ll film a really gruesome fall or something. That might make them change their mind.”

 

Shaun chuckled. “You’d think watching a whole episode of ‘the Desmond show’ would make anyone change their mind about coming near here,” he teased, earning a playful shove from Desmond.

 

The rest of the conversation fell into casual chat, now that the business was out of the way. It was normal, comforting; Desmond’s banter with Shaun, which could easily seem to be bickering if you didn’t know that they always interacted like that, Rebecca talking about new gizmos she’d invented to try on the vertical climbs, and Ezio proposing to Leonardo- and getting cheerfully turned down, yet again. (Malik was pretty sure Ezio had proposed to him three times a year or so for the past three years, but he never seemed bothered by getting turned down; perhaps because he knew as well as anyone else that it was inevitable, and Leonardo was just waiting for the ‘right time’. And since Ezio had no sense of when the ‘right time’ was, he was just going to try as often as possible.)

 

It was all normal until a beer got slammed down on the table, and the one open chair got taken by a climber that none of them seemed to recognize. The man grinned toothily, pulling off his hat to reveal a shaved head, his gloves following after.

 

“So, you’re the top dogs here,” he said, and Malik saw Altaïr’s eyes narrow the slightest bit- he was already irritated with the guy, and Malik couldn’t blame him.

 

“Wouldn’t say so. The Sherpas are the real top dogs around here,” Desmond pointed out, and the man laughed loudly.

 

“Sherpas are a _crutch_. But you guys know all about crutches. Sucking on your baby bottles the whole time you’re up there,” he said, and Malik could feel the tension at the table dial up way past eleven.

 

He was one of _those_ guys, the ones who believed it wasn’t a legitimate summit climb unless you did it without supplemental oxygen. And while yes, it was possible, it multiplied the risk by a ridiculous amount; it was a very rare person indeed who could summit Everest without oxygen and not suffer any ill effects. Malik had seen many people try it, and most gave up not far past camp four.

 

“I prefer to have all my mental faculties intact when I’ve got lives I’m responsible for,” Shaun said, shoulders stiff and chin tilted up. “Can’t have myself stumbling around like a fool when I’m meant to lead a group. If you want to lose half your brain cells from lack of oxygen, though, more power to you.”

 

“I’ll be passing all of you on summit day. You and your glorified mountain tours,” the man said, unfazed by the angry expressions aimed his way. “I’ll be climbing the mountain the real way, nobody carrying my bag, no air tank making it easy.”

 

Rebecca laughed. “If you think having oxygen makes it _easy_ to climb this mountain, you’ve obviously never climbed it before.”

 

“I’ve climbed enough to know that the Everest tours are a joke. I don’t need to go above 8000 meters to know that,” the man snapped, standing up and grabbing his things. “I’ll see you on summit day. Or at least, you’ll see the back of me when I pass you on the way to the summit.”

 

He turned and walked away, and Shaun shook his head. “He’s a right gobshite, isn’t he?”

 

“Who is he?” Malik asked, and Rebecca snorted.

 

“Robert de Sablé. He’s not with any of the expeditions,” she explained. “And as far as I know, he hasn’t climbed above 8000 meters without oxygen before, so Everest is gonna be one hell of a wake up call.”

 

“He’ll either turn around before the Hillary Step or he’ll get himself killed,” Altaïr muttered, the mood soured by the unwanted company.

 

“Indeed. You do not conquer this mountain with a prideful attitude; she allows you to summit, and you graciously accept, and plead for her continued mercy on the descent,” Ezio said, his usual flowery descriptions earning a snort from Rebecca.

 

Though both he and Altaïr were right; Everest was not a place to start experimenting, or to go in with blatant overconfidence.

 

That was a good way to turn yourself into a new colorful landmark on the climbing route.

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_Everest has always been a magnet for kooks, publicity seekers, hopeless romantics and others with a shaky hold on reality.  ― Jon Krakauer_ **

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

Desmond leaned back in his beat up folding chair and watched as Shaun gently inspected the wrist of one of his climbers; she’d fallen and landed on it hard during the climb from camp one to camp two, and while she was insisting it felt fine to continue, he wasn’t the type to take their word for it when so much was at stake.

 

Lots of people warned clients of Shaun’s company that Rebecca was hired on specifically to balance how much of an asshole Shaun was. Desmond had known Shaun long enough to know better; Shaun was an asshole, yes, but it was more like…the prickly outside of a hedgehog. You kind of got used to it after a while, really.

 

And he wasn’t that bad once you got to know him. Case in point; he was obviously genuinely concerned for the climber, his movements gentle as he studied her wrist for anything worse than swelling.

 

“Well, I won’t call off your climb, but I want you to see Leonardo when we go back to base camp before the summit push,” he finally said, and the climber nodded and sighed with relief. It was a fair bargain.

 

She thanked him and walked away to join the rest of her group, and Shaun sighed and took a deep breath before catching sight of Desmond. “Don’t you have anything better to do than sunbathe?” he asked, and Desmond grinned.

 

“I’m acclimating.”

 

“I don’t recall reading anything about lounging in shorts and a tank top at camp two being suitable acclimatization procedure.”

 

“It’ll catch on.”

 

Shaun chuckled and shook his head, then plopped down in the chair next to Desmond, looking at his group of climbers. “I have at least two I’m going to have to cut. My boss won’t be happy.”

 

Desmond shrugged. “He’d be less happy typing up a ‘sorry your dad died’ letter to their kids if they drop in the death zone.”

 

“Suppose so, but he won’t see it that way.”

 

“Yeah, well, you’re here and he’s not. It’s your call, and frankly, I’d trust your judgment over his any day,” Desmond pointed out. “You and Rebecca splitting the group again this year?”

 

Shaun nodded. “Yeah. She’s leaving camp with the faster climbers probably around ten, and I’ll follow up an hour later with the slower group. Don’t want to hold any of the faster climbers up on the ropes.”

 

“I’ll plan to leave with mine around 10:30, then. I’ve got a pretty solid group this year, they’ve all summited at least one of the seven.”

 

“Lucky.”

 

“Hey, it’ll just make you look forward to our winter climb even more, right?” Desmond asked, and Shaun laughed.

 

“I can’t believe you talked me into that,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “A winter ascent of Nanga Parbat. It’s absolutely mental.”

 

Desmond smirked. “Yeah, but nobody will be saying we’re glorified babysitters if we get our names in the record books.”

 

Shaun raised an eyebrow at Desmond, his curiosity obviously getting the better of him. “Desmond, if you’re so concerned with what others are saying about us, why are you even working here every year instead of doing your own climbs?”

 

Desmond had to bite back the first response he thought of- _because you’re here every year_. Yeah, that would go over well; a few days before the summit push, being all ‘hey, by the way, I sort of like you as more than a friend’.

 

“Desmond?” Shaun said, giving Desmond an odd look, and Desmond scrambled to not look like he was pining. He went with his second choice of answer, hopefully before Shaun had a chance to ask why he was suddenly acting strange.

 

“I like helping people get to the summit, you know? This is like, the pinnacle of some people’s entire lives. It’s really cool to be a part of that,” he finally said, immediately trying to move the focus off himself. “What about you? You’re not exactly a…people person.”

 

“Nothing so noble as you,” Shaun said, looking away with a slight frown. “I’m good at it. And the universities aren’t exactly begging me to sign on once they see my record. No one wants a history professor with a bad habit of harassing large corporations. This is…paying the bills, at least.”

 

“You’d probably have more luck in the states. Some universities would love having a corporate rebel on staff.”

 

“Maybe. Didn’t really want it to come to that, but hopping the Atlantic might be the best option, at this point.”

 

Desmond smirked. “You could stay with me. I’ll take any excuse to evict the stoner of a roommate I’ve got right now,” he offered, and Shaun gave him an incredulous look.

 

“You honestly think we could live in the same space permanently and not slaughter each other? Really, Desmond, and here you were actually sounding intelligent for a few minutes.”

 

Desmond’s grin widened. “I won’t force you to drink our ‘rubbish Yankee coffee’. And I’ll try to remember not to drink out of the carton.”

 

“You’re…really selling it, there. Sounds like five star worthy accommodations.”

 

“Says the guy who spends months of every year living in a tent.”

 

“At least my tent isn’t held together with _duct tape_.”

 

“It’s one corner! It’s not like it’s falling apart.”

 

They both fell silent, Shaun actually looking amused over the whole thing. Desmond shook his head and chuckled, leaning his head back again to look up at the sky. “I’m serious, though. If you ever feel the need to try your luck in California, you know my door is always open.”

 

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Shaun said softly, and the silence that came after wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable; just the casual silence of a quiet camp and a wide-open sky, where there were more stars than Desmond could ever hope to count.

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_The end of the ridge and the end of the world... then nothing but that clear, empty air. There was nowhere else to climb. I was standing on the top of the world. — Stacy Allison, first American woman to summit Everest_ **

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

Summit day was always the roughest.

 

At 26,300 feet, nothing was easy. The simplest tasks became a test of endurance and focus, and the cold seemed to seep straight through to the bone. Altaïr’s team had gotten here at almost four in the afternoon, and technically, they were supposed to rest a while and then be ready for the summit push at midnight.

 

Rest didn’t come easy this high, even with bottled oxygen. Even the most experienced of climbers started to suffer once they crossed over into the ‘death zone’, anywhere above 8000 meters. It was called the death zone for a damn good reason- humans weren’t meant to live at this altitude. Here, your body was literally dying, and the challenge was to get to the summit and then back down to the relative safety of camp three before death won the tug of war.

 

Altaïr was trying to get some sleep in the tent he shared with Malik, which they also shared with the radio equipment that would keep Malik in touch with the team during the summit attempt. They would be in touch with Lucy too, of course, but Malik would be ready with hot tea and fresh oxygen when they stumbled back into camp four tomorrow.

 

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew he was waking up to Malik talking with Lucy over the radio.

 

“How’s that storm looking, over?” Malik asked, and Altaïr lifted his head, adjusting his oxygen mask so it set more comfortably on his face. Malik had his off for the moment, so Lucy could hear him better.

 

“It’s sped up a little. Looks like it’ll get here tomorrow evening,” Lucy said. “But as long as you guys stick to the two o’clock turnaround, you should be fine, over.”  


That wouldn’t be a problem. Altaïr had always been dead set against descending from the summit after dark, let alone with rookie climbers; he hadn’t missed a two o’clock turn around in any of his groups yet, and he didn’t plan to start this year. He looked at his watch, and nearly groaned when he saw that it was nearly eleven. He needed to start putting his gear on.

 

At base camp, he could get into all his gear in fifteen minutes. Up here, it took a good 45 minutes.

 

There was a good amount of activity outside; it looked like Shaun’s group was doing final checks before they got started, and Altaïr could see a line of headlamps up the path to the Balcony. His group would be the last to leave camp, but he wasn’t worried; Jackson and Leah would have held up the faster groups anyway, and he was still confident they could make the turnaround times.

 

Robert’s tent was off to the side, zipped up tight; knowing him, he’d probably gotten an early start heading up the mountain so he could brag about beating them all to the summit.

 

“Altaïr,” Malik said, coming out of the tent, bundled up tight in his jacket and gloves. “You watch out for Kadar up there.”

 

Altaïr smirked. “You know I will. I’ll bring your brother back safe from the summit, don’t worry.”

 

Malik looked like he wanted to say more, but then Kadar showed up with his infectious optimism, and really, no one had the right to be that cheerful at this altitude.

 

It wasn’t long before Jackson, Leah, and the Sherpas showed up, and after a final equipment check, Altaïr led the way out of the camp and toward the Balcony.

 

This was one of the most peaceful parts of the climb. It was a steep hill, and Altaïr would have preferred more snow on the ground so his crampons wouldn’t slip on the exposed rock, but the view was worth it; even in the partial moonlight, he could see the nearby peaks of Lhotse and Makalu. It was incredibly quiet, which meant the other summit groups weren’t having any trouble further ahead- any trouble would have brought on plenty of chatter on the radio.

 

It wasn’t until they hit the South Summit that Jackson and Leah started slowing down drastically, and Altaïr started to worry. Obviously the elevation was hitting them hard; Kadar was struggling too, but nowhere near to that extent.

 

Altaïr kept one eye on his watch and the other on the path ahead, getting updates on conditions from the other groups as they came down from the summit; by the time they got up the Hillary Step, he was sure they could get to the summit before the cut off time.

 

And he was right; at just before two, he climbed up the last few steps to the summit, where prayer flags and mementos left by other climbers marked the high point. Kadar was the first to follow, his energy renewed from being quite literally on top of the world.

 

“How’s it feel, Kadar?” he asked, and Kadar was actually speechless for a few long moments. That was a first.

 

“This is unreal,” he finally said, breathless with both exhaustion and sheer happiness. “Just think, Altaïr…of all the people in the world, I’m standing higher than any of them.”

 

“You sure are,” Altaïr said, looking out at the view. It was one he never tired of; they were above the peaks of all the surrounding mountains, looking down on them as if they were three feet tall, when in fact they were thousands of meters tall. A layer of clouds hid some from view, but the visibility wasn’t bad, considering the storm about to come in.

 

Jackson, Leah, and the Sherpas finally joined them on the summit, and Altaïr radioed it in, getting a ‘congratulations’ from Malik and Lucy and a limit of ten minutes to enjoy the sights. Altaïr made sure plenty of pictures got taken, Jackson and Leah left pictures of their parents, Kadar left a picture of himself and Malik, and the Sherpas attached more prayer flags before Altaïr told them it was time to head back down.

 

Mission accomplished. Well, half of it, anyway. Now he just had to get them all down safely. They were still on schedule to beat the storm, so long as the descent went well.

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_Getting to the summit is optional, getting down is mandatory. - Ed Viesturs_ **

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

Altaïr knew that it had been too smooth of a climb, apart from the slow pace. As it turned out, though, when the whole thing came crumbling down, it wasn’t even one of his own climbers that tipped the first domino.

 

When they arrived at the Hillary Step, Altaïr sent one of the Sherpas first, followed by Jackson and Leah, then the other Sherpa; he needed to keep either himself or the Sherpas close by the three younger climbers, because they were completely exhausted. They were far too prone to make mistakes right now.

 

He spotted someone coming up to the bottom of the Step just as his Sherpa was reaching the base of it, and it took a moment before he realized who it was- the lack of an oxygen mask gave it away. It was Robert de Sablé, just coming up to the Hillary Step. Altaïr had thought he’d already left the night before, but it looked like he hadn’t even left camp four yet when Altaïr’s group set off. Altaïr cursed and checked his watch, then got out his radio.

 

“Pemba, tell Robert that it’s nearly 2:30. He needs to descend, right away. Even if he summits he won’t make it back before the storm, over,” he said, and he saw Pemba approach the lone climber- only to get weakly pushed away.

 

Anyone who was willing to push someone else on the edge of a cliff wasn’t in their right state of mind, asshole or not.

 

“Pemba, I take that back. Keep your distance, he’s obviously not right in the head, over,” he said, watching as his Sherpa backed away, retreating to where Jackson and Leah were resting as they waited.

 

“Should I just wait…?” Kadar asked, watching as Robert fumbled with the fixed ropes.

 

“Yeah. I’ll try to reason with him when he gets up here, but I want you to steer clear. No telling how he’ll react.”

 

Unfortunately, they didn’t have long to wait before something went wrong. Altaïr didn’t have a very good view of what was going on down below, but he could see well enough to know that Robert had messed up somewhere along the way- he was only a fourth of the way up, and the ropes were a mess, caught on his gear.

 

Altaïr knew the guy wasn’t at all coherent when he actually unclipped from the fixed ropes to fix the tangle, only his feet and one hand keeping him on the wall.

 

“Shit,” Altaïr snapped, dread settling low in his stomach. Then, he spotted Kadar hooking himself onto the fixed ropes and leaning back to start down the cliff. “Kadar, get back up here!”

 

“I can help him! I see what’s wrong,” Kadar insisted, starting to descend to the snared climber, not seeing the danger in his own altitude induced stupor.

 

“You’re going to get yourself killed!”

 

“I c-can fix it! Thirty seconds, s’all,” he said, and Altaïr cursed again, Malik’s demand over the radio for a status update going ignored as he quickly clipped on the rope and wrapped it around his left arm to follow Kadar down.

 

He went as quickly as he could, his lungs screaming at him for the effort- but that was easily forgotten when he heard a cry of surprise from below and felt a solid yank on the rope around his arm. Kadar had nearly reached Robert- but unfortunately, Robert’s grip on the rock had slipped, and he’d grabbed onto the closest thing he could reach. In this case, that was Kadar’s leg.

 

The scrape of crampons against bare rock sent a harsh shock wave from Altaïr’s toes straight to his skull as he very nearly slid the rest of the way down in his rush to reach Kadar; he heard another yell, felt another yank on the rope wrapped around his left arm, and he knew that the pitons wouldn’t hold the weight of three people. Once the ropes went, the clips holding them onto it would mean jack shit.

 

“Hold on!” Kadar screamed at Robert below him, his voice muffled by both the oxygen mask and the wind buffeting the exposed rock of the cliff. Altaïr felt another small tug on the rope, this time from above- the piton was shifting. It wouldn’t stay embedded for much longer, not even with him holding the rope taut with one arm and holding tight to a jagged groove in the wall with the other hand.

 

There was a damn good reason why climbers didn’t put _all_ their weight on these ropes.

 

He did the only thing he could think of left to do, the only thing that would save Kadar and Robert from falling down thousands of feet to the rocks below; he shifted both feet on the rocks, moving his right leg to brace between two shallow outcroppings in the cliff face and shifting the other out enough to turn his body as much away from the wall of rock as he could manage. In so many stiff, icy layers of clothing, it was as much a strain as trying to turn around in a vat of molasses.

 

“Kadar, grab onto me!” he screamed over the wind and the frantic noises from Robert below. Kadar looked up, eyes wide and terrified behind the tinted goggles, but he was smart enough and still clear enough in his thoughts to realize what Altaïr was doing.

 

The rope wouldn’t hold any longer; Altaïr would have to hold up the weight of both of them. Robert was still fighting the tangle of rope, arms still locked around Kadar’s leg like a lifeline, and kicking out with his crampons to try and get his feet back on the rocks; but he was panicked and groggy with the delirium of high altitude sickness.

 

Kadar grabbed onto Altaïr’s arm just as a sharp _ping_ signaled the piton snapping out of the crack in the rock it had been hammered into. The rope jerked, and all three climbers were thrown off balance as the majority of their weight was suddenly their own to manage again- or, in Altaïr’s case, his own weight plus that of two others.

 

But in the death zone, it was an agonizing burden to simply hold your own weight up, and even with four summits of Everest under his belt, Altaïr was no exception. He managed to hold on for only a few seconds before his grip started to falter, and one panicked thrash from Robert was enough to destroy any balance he had.

 

He felt his hand slipping on the jagged rock, tried to brace his leg to get a better grip with his arm, and found his arm too weak to hold on. Vertigo took over his senses as he fell back from the cliff, there was a sickening _snap_ somewhere below him, and the next thing he felt was a terrifying moment of weightlessness and then the impact of his back against rock and snow.

 

He didn’t have any time to judge his situation. He felt himself sliding, heard the other climbers yelling, and with the hand that wasn’t still locked tightly around Kadar’s wrist he desperately grabbed for a handhold. There was something very wrong, a vicious pain in his right leg that shouldn’t be there, but his only focus was stopping their slide. There were very few precious feet before the drop off, after all.

 

His hand caught on the edge of an exposed rock slab, and he thanked any deity that happened to be listening for the lack of snowfall in the past few days; that edge would usually be covered in inches of snow. He gritted his teeth as Kadar’s weight yanked at his arm again, but this time he held firm.

 

Robert didn’t.

 

He heard the slide of cloth against rock and snow, and then a scream of terror that abruptly cut into silence. Probably smacked into something on the way down the rock face; if he was lucky, he was killed or unconscious relatively soon into the fall. It was a long way down to consider his impending status of ‘smear of flesh on the rocks’.

 

It was the least of Altaïr’s worries at the moment, he hated to admit. The pain in his right leg had become blinding, not the ache of an overworked or pulled muscle- no, this was a fiery, nauseating pain that made even the smallest shift seem like the worst agony. He could do no more than concentrate on keeping his grip on both the rocks and Kadar’s wrist solid, until he heard the sound of Kadar shifting below, and the _thunk_ of an ice pick being slammed through the snow.

 

It felt like forever, waiting for Kadar to move up past him to their waiting team, none of whom were stupid enough to try and edge down the start of the slope to get to them. Kadar reached more solid ground and then turned, helping Altaïr crawl up to the same mostly level ground.

 

Every move was like crushing his right leg in a vice below the knee. He dragged it behind him, a ragged sob tearing from his throat as he managed to sit up and lean back heavily against the bare rocks of the base of the Hillary Step.

 

“He’s gone. He fell. I couldn’t even…” Kadar said, his voice weak and shaky, his eyes glued to the drop off that had almost been their own instrument of death. Altaïr tried to take in a few deep breaths, his mind racing as his own situation set in, unbeknownst to Kadar.

 

He was at the bottom of the Hillary Step on Mt. Everest.

 

His right leg was, without a doubt, broken. Useless.

 

And a storm was rolling in.

 

He was completely fucked.

 

“Kadar,” he said, surprised at the roughness of his own voice as he looked up at the younger climber and the two Sherpas who were waiting for their next orders. “K-Kadar, you and the Sherpas get Jackson and L-Leah back to camp four. As quickly as possible. Don’t let them stop to rest.”

 

Kadar’s gaze finally snapped away from the ledge, eyes focusing on Altaïr with an equal mix of confusion and fear. “What? What are you talking about? You can’t possibly get to Robert, he-“

 

“My leg is broken,” Altaïr interrupted, trying not to let any of his own fear seep into his words. Yes, he was well aware that he was going to die on this mountain tonight, but Kadar didn’t need the weight of Altaïr’s dread on his mind right now.

 

He was going to have a hard enough time as it was.

 

“It’s….no. No, it can’t be,” Kadar said, his voice desperate as he moved to kneel next to the injured man. “No. Maybe it’s just sprained. Can you put any weight on it? The Sherpas, they could-“

 

“No. It’s definitely broken, and Jackson and Leah are t-too weak. You’re nearly at your limit. The Sherpas will need all their energy to get you three down to camp; you’ll never make it with a dead weight.”

 

“No!” Kadar yelled, a sob cracking the word in two. “We can’t leave you here! You’ll die, Altaïr!”

 

Altaïr actually managed a chuckle at that, though it was strained with obvious pain. “You said you understood the rules. You told Malik you were ready to be left up here, if you were too badly injured to make it down. It’s n-not just you that applies to,” he said, stopping to take a slow, shaky breath. “I’m not special. I’m not going to make it down the mountain, Kadar. It’s out of my hands now. Out of yours, too.”

 

He could see the grim looks on the Sherpas’ faces, the devastated exhaustion from Jackson and Leah; all of them knew what this meant. Though Jackson and Leah probably weren’t able to fully grasp it at the moment- the full impact of it would probably hit them at camp three, back in the safety of breathable levels of oxygen.

 

“I c-can’t, I…I can’t leave you h-here, Altaïr, please,” Kadar managed, tears tracking down his cheeks and almost immediately slowing and icing over, even under the oversized goggles. His gloved hands were clenched on the fabric of Altaïr’s sleeve. “Please, you have to try!”

 

“Kadar.”

 

“ _Please_!”

 

Altaïr swallowed hard. It was strange, how he was more upset by Kadar’s desperate pleading than by the reality of his situation. “Get Jackson and Leah to camp. Quickly, or they won’t make it,” he said, pausing and clenching his jaw at a sudden spike in the pain as he barely shifted. “I’ll radio Malik and base camp and let them know what the situation is.”

 

Kadar sobbed again, but finally nodded. He leaned forward and grabbed Altaïr in a tight hug, his breathing harsh in his mask and his whole body trembling- whether from fear or from the cold, he didn’t know.

 

Altaïr tried not to think as Kadar stood up and stumbled away. Tried not to let himself realize that this would be the last time he ever saw Kadar. The last time he ever saw anyone, for that matter. No one else was coming down from the summit, and everyone was either at camp or headed in that direction to escape the coming storm.

 

There was only one thing left to do- break the news to his best friend.

 

He couldn’t put it off. As soon as Kadar said anything on the radio, everyone would know something had happened. Altaïr wanted to try and explain the situation without causing more panic, or giving false hope. He fumbled for his radio, taking one more deep breath against the pain before he squeezed the button.

 

“Altaïr to base camp and Malik, come in.”

 

There was a pause filled with static, and then Lucy’s voice. “This is base camp, we hear you, over.”

 

“Malik here. What’s your situation? Over,” a second voice said, sounding tired and irritated- a welcome moment of normalcy. Altaïr could easily picture the grumpy look on his face, sitting in his tent at camp four, bundled up in layers upon layers next to the radio.

 

“There’s been…a problem. Kadar and the Sherpas are bringing Jackson and Leah back to camp four. With all luck they’ll make decent t-time and get to you in about three hours, over.”

 

There was a heavy pause, just as Altaïr was expecting- then, Malik’s voice again.

 

“Altaïr, you had better not mean ‘they’ as in ‘without you’. What the hell happened, over?”

 

Altaïr let out a shaky sigh. Here goes.

 

“Robert was on the Hillary Step moving toward the summit. Pretty much delirious, nearly fell off the cliff. Kadar and I tried to reach him to get him secured, but, uh…he’d loosened the pitons trying to untangle from the ropes. Took all three of us d-down to the base of the step. I tried to arrest the fall, but only Kadar held on.”

 

He took a few breaths. It was difficult to form a full sentence this high on the mountain, let alone explain what had been a completely fucked up situation.

 

“You’re not staying up there to look for Robert, are you?” Lucy asked, and Altaïr would have laughed at the incredulous tone, if he’d had the energy.

 

“God, no. He’s gone off the side,” he explained, hesitating for one precious moment longer before dropping the other shoe. “I broke my right leg just below the knee trying to keep us on the Step. I’m…unable to proceed down to camp. Jackson and Leah and Kadar need both Sherpas to get down before the storm, they can’t even consider a dead weight.”

 

The pause this time was longer. Altaïr knew that every guide and climber on the south face was on this frequency, and they all knew exactly what that meant.

 

Rescue efforts up this high just…didn’t happen. Climbers could barely get themselves down, let alone someone who can’t manage to stand on their own two feet.

 

“So…you’re telling me that you’re at the bottom of the Hillary Step- with a broken leg,” Malik finally said, his voice oddly flat. Altaïr didn’t even bother to answer. He didn’t need to.

 

“I don’t have any Sherpas who are high enough on the mountain to get to you before dark, Altaïr,” Lucy’s voice cut in, her words halting and unsteady.

 

“I know. I’m not expecting a rescue,” Altaïr said, curling his fingers and toes to make sure he could still feel them. Even curling his toes on his right leg tore a cry of pain from his chest, luckily after he’d let up on the button on his radio. He didn’t need them hearing that.

 

“How much oxygen do you have left?” Malik said, his words still oddly steady, as if he wasn’t letting himself put two and two together. Altaïr thought for a few moments, counting in his head.

 

“Almost three hours. Maybe,” he guessed, obviously not putting too much thought into the answer. What did it matter? The oxygen was just delaying the inevitable, at this point.

 

“Lucy, what’s the ETA on that storm, over?” Malik asked, and that got Altaïr’s attention, because like _hell_ would he let Malik pull some damned suicide mission trying to save him. He tensed, his hand clutching the radio a little tighter, but Lucy was way ahead of him.

 

“Malik, the storm will get here in about three hours, and he has less than three hours of oxygen left. It would take you at least six to reach him, in _ideal_ conditions, and- oh, yeah, you have _one arm_ , if you forgot about that. Don’t even think about trying something stupid, over,” she said, some of the shakiness gone from her voice as she slipped back into her element as the company manager.

 

“Base camp and Malik, this is Shaun Hastings of British Mountaineering Adventures, do you read, over?” a familiar voice piped up, the distinctive British accent obvious even through the muffling effect of an oxygen mask.

 

“I read you, Shaun, but I’m sure you can tell this is not a good time, over,” Lucy snapped.

 

“Sorry to be a bother,” Shaun continued. “However, I’m on return from the summit, about ten minutes out from where my team has extra oxygen stashed on the Balcony. I can be back at the base of the Hillary Step in, oh…about two and a half hours, give or take, with fresh oxygen for our stranded friend, over.”

 

Altaïr felt like his heart stopped for a moment there. This was _Shaun Hastings_ , snarky British bastard and guide for a rival company, and it sounded like…he was offering to assist in a completely hopeless rescue.

 

This was insane. He had to be hallucinating.

 

“We’re about to have white out conditions. And you’ve been climbing for close to 12 hours already,” Malik pointed out, though he sounded taken aback by what he was hearing, just as much as Altaïr. “You do know what you’re saying, right?”

 

“Offering to cart some oxygen up to hopefully tide him over till you get your inevitable little rescue party going, yeah, I’m fully aware,” Shaun replied, and Altaïr could hear the weary smirk in his voice. “God knows no force on this mountain is going to stop you, so I may as well pitch in.”

 

“No. There is no rescue party. There is no rescue at the _Hillary Step_ during a _storm_ ,” Lucy said, her voice now making the full transition from shaky to frantic. Radio etiquette was quickly being left in the dust on all sides of the conversation once again. “Malik, you’re staying put. Shaun, you’re coming back down to camp four, immediately. Do you understand me?”

 

Shaun’s laugh in reply was breathless. “Did I miss the part where you bought BMA and became my boss? Last I checked, you’re base camp manager for Seven Summits Adventure Guides, Miss Stillman.”

 

“Guys, she’s right,” Altaïr broke in, because the more they talked, the more he realized that they just might be reckless enough to actually attempt a suicidal rescue. He couldn’t bear the thought of more bodies on this mountain than his own, frozen to the rock in an attempt to get him down. “There’s only two of you, one already exhausted from summiting. It would take t-ten Sherpas in good weather to even move someone ten feet up here.”

 

“Make that three,” a new voice crackled to life over the radio, one that Altaïr immediately recognized. “You really think I’m gonna let Shaun go have a summit slumber party with my favorite cousin without crashing it? Hell no. I’ve been resting at camp four for a while, I can be ready to go in fifteen minutes.”

 

Desmond. Of course- while Desmond would never admit it, the idea of Shaun taking a suicidal trip up the mountain was probably tearing him apart. Despite the constant bickering, the two were inseparable- everyone on the mountain was tired of the two dancing around the fact that they both wanted to screw the other’s brains out, neither willing to be the first to admit it, or maybe both of them honestly oblivious.

 

“Guys, no. Desmond, you _are_ on my payroll, and I’m ordering you to stay put at camp,” Lucy said.

 

“Uh huh. I’ll tell you what; you come right up here and stop me. I’ll even send down a Sherpa to help you with the Lhotse Face,” Desmond pointed out, knowing full well that even if Lucy were equipped and ready to climb, it would take a full day to ascend to camp four, assuming no pit stops.

 

Altaïr felt real fear rising in him again; fear at the thought of Malik, Desmond, and Shaun stubbornly walking out into the storm just to die. “Malik, this is insane. Even if you got here, you c-can’t carry me, and I can’t walk. We both knew this could happen, don’t do anything stupid,” he begged, hoping they would come to their senses.

 

“You trying to hold yourself and two people on that rock face was stupid too, Altaïr. But like hell am I letting you save my brother’s life and then sit there to die,” Malik said, the first hints of heated emotion coloring his voice. “Shaun will be there before your oxygen runs out, and he should have enough to last you until we get there. Right Hastings?”

 

“Right you are. Picking up the extras momentarily; I’m sending my team on to camp with their Sherpas and I’ll be turning right round.”

 

“Malik, stop this _right now_! Three people can’t make this kind of rescue, not even in perfect weather!”

 

“Then maybe four can. I’ll see you at the Step, boss man,” another female voice piped up- Rebecca, Shaun’s assistant guide with the British team. She had barely finished her words when another new voice joined in.

 

“Perhaps five would be a better number?” Ezio added with his trademark Italian accent. “Summit Heroes of Italy wouldn’t be heroes at all if we left a good man stranded at the top of a mountain, si?”

 

“I can’t believe this. We’re going to lose six of our best guides on this mountain tonight, all because you guys want to try and be big damn heroes,” Lucy said, and Altaïr was tempted to agree with her.

 

But at the same time…their determination was tugging at him, giving him the slightest bit of hope where he’d had none since the moment his leg snapped. He knew how idiotic it was, that the chances of a successful night rescue during a storm a mere hour short of the summit of the tallest peak in the world were abysmal at best, but…

 

They were going to risk everything just to give him a chance at survival.

 

And he couldn’t even try to convince himself that he wouldn’t do the same, were it Malik staring death in the face on this peak.

 

“Alright. Here’s the plan,” Malik said, completely ignoring Lucy. “We’ll meet by the Seven Summits tents in fifteen minutes. Bring as much extra oxygen as you can safely carry and any extra doses of Dex. You all know how risky this is; I’m not going to ask anyone to put their life on the line for this, but if you show up, I’ll assume you’re prepared to do whatever it takes.”

 

“We totally need a cool code name for this,” Rebecca said, her voice inappropriately cheerful given the situation.

 

“Operation Stranded Eagle?” Desmond said, and there was another long pause- while Altaïr rolled his eyes.

 

When Malik spoke again, it was with a solid, unshakeable conviction. “Operation Stranded Eagle starts in fifteen minutes; let’s get our friend off that damn summit. Malik over and out.”

 


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The situation gets worse before the rescue even sets off, and every second is building toward disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part two! The third part is the longest of the three, and will be up tomorrow. <3

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_Technique and ability alone do not get you to the top; it is the willpower that is the most important. This willpower you cannot buy with money or be given by others...it rises from your heart. - Junko Tabei - 1975 - after becoming first woman to climb Everest_ **

  
* ~~~~~~ *

 

The next fifteen minutes were almost amusing to listen to. Knowing that the rescue team was preparing for what was probably a suicide mission, Lucy continued to spam the radio with pleas, threats, and attempts at reason to call off the rescue. At one point she even appealed to Leonardo to try and at least bring Ezio to some sense- though that only resulted in Leonardo laughing in the background as she continued her attempts at persuasion. Evidently Leonardo was pretty certain that Ezio wouldn’t be changing his mind.

 

Occasionally one of the other guides on the mountain would break in, usually to mention how completely insane this kind of effort was, but they seemed resigned to the fact that their efforts were in vain. Most of the people on this mountain were here every season, working with the other guides to arrange for the placing of ropes and timing of summit attempts, so they all knew each other- and knew it was futile to try and change a climber’s mind once he’d set it to something.

 

Altaïr, for his part, wanted to try and convince them to call it off. He didn’t want anyone hurt because of him. But he was exhausted, and the pain in his leg was making it difficult to string coherent thoughts together for any significant amount of time; he was all too ready to just lie back against the rocks and sleep.

 

But he knew all too well that when you went to sleep this high on the mountain, you wouldn’t wake up again.

 

At least for now, the pain was keeping him from accidentally dozing. It was constant and sharp, and he had to concentrate on keeping his breathing slow and steady- he couldn’t afford to waste his oxygen supply by hyperventilating.

 

He heard a low rumble and reluctantly lifted his head, narrowing his eyes as he studied the horizon. The sun was going to set soon, but that wasn’t the most ominous part- no, the worst part was how the clouds were building and churning around the surrounding mountain peaks, almost like boiling grey water, slowly climbing the open sky. By the time the full force of the storm hit, the storm clouds would reach far past the summit of Mt. Everest, and envelop anything on the mountain along with it.

 

The last time he’d gotten caught in a storm on a mountain, it had cost Malik his arm. Altaïr had been too proud, too stubborn to admit that they were in over their heads, a couple of reckless 18 year olds who thought they were bulletproof. Altaïr lost one finger to frostbite; Malik lost his entire left arm after a fall left it mangled on top of the frostbite.

 

That had been Denali, a little over 6000 meters high. Everest was an entirely different beast, and now Malik would be out in the storm again, and once again, it was Altaïr’s fault.

 

He sighed and dropped his head back against the rock wall behind him, and then pressed the button on his radio. “Guys, I can see the storm from up here. It looks…bad,” he said, taking longer to his thoughts into words than he would have liked. “I don’t want any of you hurt because of me. You don’t have to do this, over.”

 

“You concentrate on staying awake and alert, Altaïr,” Malik’s voice came back, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Shaun, how’s your pace? Think you’ll beat the storm?”

 

There was a short pause before the reply came, probably the Brit fumbling for his radio with one hand on the rope. “A bit slowed down by the extra tanks, but I’m pretty sure I can get there before our unwelcome company. Going to pick it up a bit, but I probably won’t be much help on the way back down, over.”

 

“That’s fine. Try your best to conserve your energy, over.”

 

“This is going to be 1996 all over again,” Lucy said, her words tense as a high wire, and for a few long moments, no one spoke. Everyone knew what happened on this mountain in 1996; hell, even people who’d never climbed so much as a hill in their lives heard what happened.

 

It was like a swift kick to the gut when he realized that he was even higher on the mountain than Rob Hall had been in his final moments that night. And the person who’d climbed back up to help Rob Hall had paid with his life.

 

“Lucy, with all due respect, everyone who volunteered for this knows exactly what they’re risking. We _know_ ,” Desmond finally said, his voice uncharacteristically dead serious. “So unless you have something helpful to say, please do us a favor and shut up.”

 

Well…if Desmond hadn’t been fired before, he was definitely fired now.

 

The radio fell silent again, the only sounds left that of the rising winds and Altaïr’s own breath in his oxygen mask. He wondered how long before he would have to clear his regulator of ice buildup; depending on how cold it got, it may quickly render his oxygen supply useless if he didn’t keep it clear.

 

That was assuming he was even right about his oxygen supply lasting until Shaun got here. If he ran out too soon, their rescue operation might turn out useless from the start.

 

He lifted his head enough to look at the building storm clouds, his leg throbbing with vivid pain.

 

He couldn’t recall a time when he’d ever felt more helpless than this.

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_The highest of the world's mountains, it seems, has to make but a single gesture of magnificence to be the lord of all, vast in unchallenged and isolated supremacy. - George Mallory_ **

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

Malik’s heart was racing as he gathered up the rest of his gear and hauled himself out of his tent and into the freezing wind. Not racing from exertion, not yet, but from a gut wrenching worry for his best friend a little over 2000 vertical feet from where he stood. Altaïr hadn’t said anything about the pain, but there was a tension in his voice that anyone who knew him would be able to pick out. He was obviously in a lot of pain- and scared, whether or not he would have admitted it.

 

Hell, anyone would be scared, being stranded and alone at nearly 29,000 feet.

 

Desmond was the first person to meet him outside the tents. His expression was grim, even if he’d managed to sound optimistic over the radio. It was no wonder; after all, Shaun was going in the exact opposite direction of safety, and probably already exhausted from coming straight off a successful summit.

 

“Desmond,” he said, getting the younger man’s attention. “Shaun’s not going to be in great shape by the time we get up there. He’s been climbing for nearly twelve hours by now, closer to…eighteen, when we reach them.”

 

Even with the oxygen mask covering much of his face, Malik could see the way Desmond’s jaw clenched. “I know.”

 

“Ezio and I can switch off helping Altaïr. I want you to make Shaun your top priority on the trip down. Keep him talking, watch for symptoms of AMS, and give him a dose of Dex if you think he needs it.”

 

Desmond’s shoulders relaxed the slightest bit. “Got it. I’ll keep him on his feet.”

 

“I have to say…he wouldn’t have been my first guess if you asked me who would volunteer for this,” Malik added after a few moments, and the corners of Desmond’s eyes turned up with a half-hidden grin.

 

“He’s a big softie under all that British sass. Don’t let him fool you.”

 

Malik narrowed his eyes, catching sight of a small red light just below the much brighter light of Desmond’s headlamp. “Are you letting them film this?” he asked incredulously, and Desmond sighed.

 

“I don’t have time to figure out how to remove the camera. I think they bolted it on, to be safe,” he said with a half shrug that was barely seen through the layers upon layers of clothing. “I’m not going to be taking direction from them up there, that’s for damn sure. Just gonna act like it’s not there.”

 

Malik eyed the tiny light for a moment longer before deciding that it wasn’t worth the hassle trying to contact the guys down at base camp to shut down the live feed. He didn’t like the idea of their rescue attempt being fodder for some ridiculous daredevil show, especially not if things didn’t go well, but there was little he could do about it.

 

The next to arrive was Rebecca, her bright yellow coat easily standing out from the stark white and grey of the mountain; she looked ready to go, though she held what looked like a couple of climbing harnesses and a length of rope in her hands.

 

“He said it’s broken below the knee, right?” she asked as she joined the pair, strapping the harness around a loop in the rope and pulling it tight. Malik nodded.

 

“Yes. You have an idea?” he replied, more than willing to hear out any suggestions. Anything to better their chances of getting there and back again with the other two guides in tow.

 

“I’ve rigged these up to kind of…act as a two person sling, I guess,” Rebecca said, not even pausing at the befuddled look she got from both men. “This part will strap around his leg, one loop just above the kneecap and the other below. These ropes will be tied to the lower loop, and then tied across whoever is helping to support him.”

 

The confusion cleared from Malik’s face. “So it will hold his broken leg well off the ground, and the weight will be mostly supported by whoever the rope is tied to.”

 

“Right,” Rebecca said, grinning behind her mask and goggles. “It’ll be painful, but it’ll keep any weight off his leg below the knee. You guys’ll need to switch off on the rope, and transferring it from person to person will be tricky, but…it’s the best I could come up with on short notice.”

 

“No, it’s great. Anything helps, Becca,” Desmond said, nodding at Ezio as he met the group, tugging his gloves on.

 

“I’m just glad you guys stowed extra oxygen at the Balcony, too. Our one tank wouldn’t have cut it for both of them for this long,” Rebecca said, and the three men just stared at her for a few long, awkward moments.

 

“My team didn’t have any oxygen stowed along the path this year,” Desmond said, and Ezio nodded in agreement.

 

“My team didn’t either. Our Sherpas carried the extras.”

 

Rebecca’s smile was quickly fading. She looked to Malik with wide eyes that were quickly becoming panicked.  “Malik…please tell me you guys had oxygen at the Balcony,” she said, and Malik slowly shook his head- they had some extra with their Sherpas, but not on the path.

 

“Oh my God. Oh my _God_ , he didn’t,” Rebecca babbled, reaching up to grip her head in both hands, and Ezio grabbed onto her shoulder to steady her.

 

“You’re sure you only had one tank stowed there?”

 

She nodded. “I grabbed one of the two we had there, one of my climbers needed it on the way down. I _told_ Shaun I was taking it, he knew. He _knew_. Oh my God.”

 

“So he’s just got the tank he summited on? That’s all?” Desmond asked, the tension in his shoulders obvious even through thick layers. “How long?”

 

“He would have had…maybe four hours left on it, if that. That asshole knows he’s going to run out of oxygen getting a fresh tank up to Altaïr. He knew the whole time and he didn’t say anything.”

 

Malik’s heart was somewhere in his feet. Shaun knew that if he told them there was one tank of oxygen, they would all insist he come back down- and without that oxygen, Altaïr had no chance of making it until rescue arrived. He’d deliberately acted as if he had enough for both of them, when in fact by the time they got there, Shaun would have been without oxygen for hours.

 

People had survived in the death zone without supplemental oxygen before, sure. Even during intense storms, and after summiting. But those were mostly people who had climbed without oxygen many times before.

 

Shaun never had. He’d always used oxygen, always been safety conscious.

 

“I’m going to kill him. I swear, I’m going to kill him,” Desmond was saying, lifting his radio to probably chew Shaun out for the self-sacrificing idiocy, but Malik clamped a hand down over Desmond’s before he could cue up his radio. Desmond shot him a glare. “What?”

 

“Altaïr can’t know,” Malik said, making a split second decision- one that may or may not cost a life. “Shaun is on his way there, and we all know he won’t turn back. If Altaïr figures out that Shaun is running on empty, he might refuse to take the extra oxygen. We can’t afford to cause a conflict up there. We just…we need to trust that Shaun understands his own limits, and when he’s passed them.”

 

Nobody spoke at first. It was setting in that with this new complication, the chances of one or both of the stranded guides dying before getting down the mountain had gone up drastically. As if the odds weren’t already bad enough.

 

They needed to start moving. Fast.

 

“Let’s go. The sooner we get to them, the better chance they have,” he said, taking the initiative to start heading toward the fixed ropes. One by one the rest of the rescue team followed, a heaviness settling over them that hadn’t been there before.

 

It was difficult to be optimistic when they weren’t entirely sure if this was a rescue operation or a body recovery.

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_But there are men for whom the unattainable has a special attraction. Usually they are not experts: their ambitions and fantasies are strong enough to brush aside the doubts which more cautious men might have. Determination and faith are their strongest weapons. At best such men are regarded as eccentric; at worst, mad. – Walt Unsworth_ **

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

 

The snow was just beginning to fall thicker when a headlamp flickered in the distance and a shape trudged over the drop off that led to the South Summit. Altaïr lifted his head and blinked a few times, his head aching and his vision a little blurred as he focused on the figure, clad in a bright blue coat.

 

It felt like it had been days since he’d seen another person; the cold made everything seem sluggish, even time. His oxygen had run out probably a half hour ago, and everything took way too much effort; even moving his fingers took all his concentration. It didn’t help that his fingers had gone stiff with the cold.

 

“Well, you look a right mess,” Shaun said, his voice tired and rough, slightly muffled by his oxygen mask. He dropped to one knee in the snow next to Altaïr, already grabbing for one of the oxygen tanks strapped to his pack. “Let’s get some oxygen in you, shall we?”

 

Altaïr didn’t need to answer. He’d only been without oxygen for maybe thirty minutes, and he was already feeling it hard. It took far too much effort to just swing his empty tank to the front and struggle to disconnect it with slightly numb fingers as Shaun radioed in that he’d reached Altaïr’s position and that he was still conscious and moving.

 

Shaun took over after watching him fumble with it, though he wasn’t that much faster in getting the new tank hooked up; he was probably just as frozen as Altaïr by now. But it was worth the wait when the oxygen finally flooded his mask again, giving back some of that strength that had been sapped away.

 

“Thanks,” Altaïr managed, taking in deep breaths as the headache began to ease just a bit. Shaun smiled behind his mask, then dropped to sit in the snow next to Altaïr, his back against the cliff.

 

“How’s the leg?”

 

Altaïr snorted. “If it weren’t a red flag for frostbite, I would be praying for it to go numb already.”

 

“Bad break?”

 

“Heard the damn thing snap. Thought it was another piton breaking out of the wall.”

 

“Damn,” Shaun said, his eyebrows furrowing. “Guess you won’t be climbing Annapurna next year after all.”

 

Altaïr would have laughed, if he had the energy to spare. “You don’t have to stay up here. You’d probably be better off getting a head start down to camp.”

 

“You can barely hook up a new oxygen tank, no chance you’ll be able to clear it if it gets iced up. Someone’s got to keep you reasonably conscious,” Shaun said, though Altaïr had the feeling it had more to do with the face that the other guide wasn’t sure he would make it back down if he tried to go alone, storm or no storm.

 

It was no surprise. Shaun had basically summited twice today. He was going to burn through every single reserve he had.

 

“Why?” Altaïr suddenly blurted out, shifting to look at the man sitting next to him. Shaun gave him a confused look.

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why come all the way back here, risk your life, to help me? You don’t even _like_ me.”

 

Altaïr immediately felt bad for saying it like that- evidently elevation also caused foot in mouth disease- but Shaun just chuckled.

 

“I’m not a _complete_ asshole, you know. I wouldn’t want my worst enemy to die alone on this mountain. And certainly not someone who’d gotten himself stranded saving someone else from adding to the body collection up here,” he pointed out, curling up a bit tighter against the rocks as the wind began to drastically pick up. The storm was blowing in quick now; it wouldn’t be long before a complete white out, and Malik and the others were still hours away.

 

“Couldn’t save Robert,” Altaïr muttered, the wind stinging at the few spots of exposed skin on his face. “But he may have been too far gone already. He was delirious.”

 

“He was an arse. Shouldn’t have been on this mountain in the first place,” Shaun pointed out, already sounding out of breath despite the oxygen mask. “Summiting Everest without oxygen on a first attempt, having never climbed an eight-thousander without oxygen before? He was walking straight into his grave in the first place.”

 

Altaïr didn’t agree out loud; he didn’t need to. Everyone at base camp had been thinking the same thing, and at least one guide had tried to convince Robert to at least carry oxygen with him in case he got into trouble.

 

Pride cometh before a fall, and all that. Literally, in this case.

 

Altaïr’s head felt clearer now than it had when he’d been starved of oxygen, but he could tell the altitude was still wearing down on him. He felt like every cell in his body was exhausted, running on empty, and the pain was almost distant now if he didn’t move his leg for long enough. Shaun was quieter and less…well, abrasive than usual, so he seemed to be in the same boat; they’d both been climbing all night and day, Shaun for a couple hours more than Altaïr.

 

“How long will these tanks last us?” he asked, and Shaun took a beat longer than usual to answer the question.

 

“About six hours?” he said, sounding uncertain, almost timid. “At least till they get here and part of the way down. Depends on how slow going it is in the storm, I suppose.”

 

It wasn’t an ideal situation. Under normal circumstances, it would take a few hours to get down from the summit- but with the storm coming, that estimate could be doubled, or worse.

 

Altaïr wasn’t sure he had the strength for hours of struggling along on one leg, let alone with no oxygen.

 

“I would say we should s-stay awake with a rousing game of I Spy, but I imagine there are only so many ways to describe ‘way too fucking much snow’,” Shaun pointed out with a halfhearted laugh, and Altaïr smirked.

 

“So tell me how a PhD student in England gets started in climbing mountains,” he said, well aware that they both needed to stay awake. If telling stories and quizzing each other would help, then they may as well.

 

“My dad,” Shaun said, stopping for a few moments to catch his breath. “A complete tosser, that one. Told me a history degree was garbage and I wouldn’t do one damn thing in my life that was meaningful. Two years later I called him from the summit of Everest and told him where he could shove his unwanted opinions.”

 

Altaïr laughed, barely. “Guess that’s one way to p-prove him wrong.”

 

Shaun turned his head just slightly to look at Altaïr. “What about you? Malik said you’d have been on Everest at eight if you could’ve reached the p-pedals of an auto.”

 

“Sounds about right. Been climbing anything I could get a good grip on since before I can remember,” Altaïr said, his expression sobering a little. “Mom always told me I’d die on one of these mountains.”

 

“Hey now, none of that. I didn’t drag my arse back up here just to sit and watch you wimp out and freeze. Malik will kick your arse if you die. And then he’ll kick mine.”

 

“I don’t doubt it.”

 

The wind kicked up another notch, and Altaïr winced and tried to curl up a bit more- but that only resulted in a violent stab of pain up his leg, leaving him gasping into his oxygen mask. He felt Shaun’s hand on his shoulder, telling him to calm down and breathe, and he fought to do just that; hyperventilating from the pain wouldn’t do any good.

 

He settled back against the rocks with a low moan as the pain went from blinding to just this edge of unbearable, his mouth too dry as he swallowed hard.

 

He couldn’t do this. There was no way.

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_The wind is the appalling enemy. It is mind-destroying, physically-destroying, soul-destroying.... — Chris Bonnington_ **

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

The storm swept in like the front edge of a hurricane. In minutes they went from a stiff wind and decent visibility to nearly tornado force winds, visibility of a few feet at best, and a drop in temperature that made the chill bite right through the thick coats they wore.

 

It was all Malik could do to keep his right arm wrapped over the fixed rope and his feet moving one in front of the other. His hand and both feet ached with the cold, and every step sapped his strength right down to the core. The others couldn’t have been much better; after all, Malik hadn’t climbed today, and the others all had.

 

It felt like they’d been climbing half a day, when it had actually been a few hours, at best. They had passed Kadar and the other two members of Altaïr’s team a while ago, stumbling along, supported by their Sherpas; they would reach camp four just fine, and Kadar was physically alright, but distraught. Malik wished he had more time to comfort him, but time was a luxury they did not have.

 

It had been long enough now that Malik turned around, stopping Desmond short right behind him, and made a pointed look at his radio. Malik couldn’t radio Altaïr and Shaun without taking his hand off the ropes, and he wasn’t about to do that in these conditions. Luckily, Desmond quickly understood what he wanted, and Malik turned to continue slowly climbing. They couldn’t afford any stops; Desmond would have to keep moving while he talked.

 

“Desmond to stranded eagle, come in,” Malik heard behind him, and he huffed out a chuckle. Altaïr probably hated that nickname already.

 

There was a long enough pause that Malik started to worry, but then the radio crackled to life. “Stranded eagle would like y-you to know that he’s going to reroute your testicles into your arse via a swift kick if you keep c-calling him that, over,” a familiar British voice said. Shaun sounded shaky and tired, but he was still talking in full sentences, so there was that.

 

Then again, if Rebecca was right, his oxygen supply was in immediate danger of running out. He wouldn’t be this coherent for long, if that was the case.

 

“Just looking for a status update, over,” Desmond said, and Malik could hear the smile in his tone.

 

“Well, we’re both still alive. Wind is a bitch, and I t-think if it gets any colder I’ll have frostbite on my kidneys, but we’re both alright for the m-moment.”

 

_For the moment_ , Malik thought bitterly.

 

“We’re still a long way out. Not sure how long, got about as much visibility as a mud puddle,” Desmond replied. “But we’re moving steady and headed your way. Keep each other awake, we’ll be there before you know it, alright? Over.”

 

“No naps and play n-nice with the other kids, got it,” Shaun replied, his voice seeming weaker already. He obviously wasn’t bothering with the radio etiquette, and no one was going to call him out on it, either.

 

“If it’s any encouragement, fourteen different countries have sent along their well wishes, over,” Lucy suddenly said, and Malik frowned, feeling the ice shift on his eyebrows as he did.

 

“Um, say again, over?” Desmond said, voicing all their confusion.

 

“Your TV crew down here is feeding live updates and clips to all the major news networks they can reach by satellite. You guys have millions of people invested in this now,” Lucy explained, and Malik remembered the camera on Desmond’s headgear. “The impossible rescue on Everest is front page news on every news site I can pull up here, over.”

 

“No pressure or anything,” Rebecca’s muffled voice called out from farther down the rope.

 

“Less well wishes, more arranging rescue choppers to get ready to meet us at camp two. At least one of us will need to get to the hospital in Kathmandu ASAP, over,” Desmond said into his radio, for once having a smart idea for his reality show stint.

 

“Already on it. I’ve been on the phone with three different embassies and the highest government officials I can reach. Pulling more strings than a puppet show down here. And Leonardo is trekking up to camp two as we speak so he can triage the moment you arrive, over,” Lucy explained.

 

“Be careful, my love. This is not climbing weather even below 8000 meters, over,” Ezio piped up. 

 

“I will be fine. You concentrate on getting your team back down here in one piece, si?” Leonardo replied, sounding more optimistic and energetic than anyone else on the channel, as usual.

 

The radio fell silent once again. They needed to conserve their strength, try to breathe steady, because they still had a long way to go; there had already been difficult moments on steep rocks when Malik had to use his awkward technique with a Jumar to ascend. Luckily, he hadn’t ever stopped climbing all these years; sure, he hadn’t exactly been following Altaïr up any death zone summits, or up any summits for that matter, but he had become quite competent in creative one-armed climbing over the years.

 

He hadn’t thought about it until now, until this moment. All these years his fear had held him back from the highest of climbs, telling him that he couldn’t afford to lose more than he already had- and all along, Altaïr had likely believed that Malik had lost all trust in him as a climbing partner. After all, Altaïr knew Malik could climb and climb well, despite his handicap, and Malik never admitted his fear to anyone.

 

It must have been eating away at Altaïr, all these years, feeding that guilt that Malik wanted to break him of. And throwing a fit about Kadar choosing to climb on Altaïr’s team probably cemented that in his friend’s mind- that Malik didn’t trust him, not with himself, and not with his little brother, either.

 

There was no one Malik would trust more with Kadar’s life on this mountain, and the reason was obvious by now.

 

The thought drove him onward with new determination, pressing himself against the driving wind and the paralyzing cold; he would get Altaïr and Shaun off that summit, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

 

And it may well be- for all of them.

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_Everest for me, and I believe for the world, is the physical and symbolic manifestation of overcoming odds to achieve a dream. — Tom Whittaker_ **

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

Shaun was well aware he was completely and utterly fucked.

 

His oxygen had run out not long after their last radio conversation with Desmond. Not that Altaïr knew; no, Altaïr was a bit out of it, not enough to be worrisome yet, but enough that he hadn’t noticed the gradual deterioration in Shaun’s condition. Shaun planned to keep it that way as long as possible. With a broken leg, Altaïr needed the oxygen so much more than he did.

 

Shaun knew what it felt like to suddenly be trying to drag oxygen out of air that contained only a third of what it normally would. Of course, every other time, that feeling had been the cue to hook up a fresh tank of oxygen.

 

This time he would be going without, and there was no telling how long he would last, really. Altitude was funny like that; you never knew who would be struck down. An Olympian might drop dead in an hour, whilst a casual hiker may be able to tolerate nearly two days of limited oxygen.

 

Shaun could only hope he was one of the lucky ones.

 

“First ascent of Aconcagua,” Altaïr said, his voice hard to hear over the wind, and cracking with strain. They’d been doing everything they could to stay awake and aware in the bitter cold and the painful wind, and it had come down to quizzing each other now.

 

Shaun tried to think, at the same time trying to move his fingers and toes; without oxygen, the cold set in much quicker, and numbness was already trying to take hold. Aconcagua…that was South America. Right? His mind felt foggy, like even his thoughts were slogging through ice water. South America. Aconcagua.

 

“Shaun?” Altaïr said, looking in his direction, and Shaun realized he was going to give himself away if he didn’t focus and keep up. It would help if he didn’t have this nagging headache.

 

“W-What was the question…?”

 

“Aconcagua. First ascent,” Altaïr said. “You don’t sound good. Are you alright?”

 

“M’fine,” Shaun insisted, a little too quickly. Aconcagua, one of the seven summits. He had to concentrate here. “Walter Harper?”

 

Altaïr sat up a little straighter. “…That’s Denali.”

 

“Oh. Right. You were asking about…Annapurna?”

 

Altaïr didn’t answer. Instead, he fumbled for his radio, and Shaun gave him a frown. “What are you…?”

 

Altaïr ignored him to cue up the radio. “Altaïr to rescue team and b-base camp, over.”

 

If he had been clearer of mind, Shaun may have realized immediately why Altaïr was calling the others. As it was, he blinked slowly and wondered what brought about the sudden change in his companion. There was a long pause before the radio came through again.

 

“This is Desmond, we hear you. Everything okay up there?”

 

“This is Lucy, we hear you at base, over.”

 

Altaïr’s eyes were fixed on Shaun through his dark goggles as he spoke again. “Something’s wrong with Shaun. He seems…disoriented, over.”

 

“Disoriented my arse. I’m fine,” Shaun insisted, without much force behind the words. There was a long enough pause on the radio, though, to deepen Altaïr’s frown even more.

 

“Altaïr, this is Malik. I need you to do exactly as I say and do _not_ get angry, over,” Malik’s strained voice finally said, and Altaïr’s glove tightened around the radio.

 

“I have the feeling I’m going t-to be angry anyway, but go ahead, over.”

 

“Ask Shaun how long ago his oxygen ran out, over.”

 

Shaun swallowed hard as Altaïr’s furious gaze locked on him again. Well, shit.

 

“Shaun,” he said slowly, obviously trying to take Malik’s advice and somewhat failing. “How long have you not had oxygen?”

 

The game was up, it seemed. Shaun tried to shrug, but the message didn’t seem to get from his brain to his shoulders. “Couple hours, I suppose.”

 

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” Altaïr snapped, and Shaun winced. “You came back up here without enough oxygen to g-get yourself down? Are you _suicidal_?”

 

“Altaïr, you’d better not be shoving him off that cliff, over,” Malik said, his tone only half joking. Altaïr stared at Shaun for a bit longer before squeezing the button on the radio.

 

“I am very, v-very close to it. You guys knew about this?”

 

“We figured it out too late to call this off. You needed the oxygen more than he did at that point, and we were hoping to make it to you before he really started to struggle.”

 

Shaun fixed his gaze on the building snow at his feet, and Altaïr took a deep breath before replying. “How long till you get here? I d-don’t have any Dex on me. I can share my oxygen with him for a while, but it’ll run out quicker that way,” he said, fear creeping back into his voice.

 

“If we keep up this pace, probably an hour and a half. We have Dex and extra oxygen tanks. If you can keep him awake until we get there, we can get him moving quick, over.”

 

“Altaïr, this is Leo, come in.”

 

“I hear you, over,” Altaïr said, already fumbling with the straps on his mask, ignoring Shaun’s weak protests.

 

“You can go ahead and share some oxygen with him now to give him a boost, but I must insist you continue to wear the mask until your rescue arrives. You are already at a severe disadvantage on the climb down without the use of one leg; if you lose any mental faculties at all, it will be impossible to bring you down the mountain,” Leonardo explained as Altaïr yanked Shaun’s own mask down and out of the way, pretty much shoving his own into its place instead. The cold felt like it immediately froze the bare skin on his face, but he held the mask firmly in place over Shaun’s nose and mouth.

 

“So you’re saying you want me to let him die,” he said, his throat and chest feeling tight.

 

“No. I am saying that he still has a chance of making it down the mountain, even with a few moderate symptoms of altitude sickness. Even the slightest symptoms will ruin _your_ chances entirely,” Leonardo said, and for once, his words sounded dead serious. “Consider this long distance triage. As a doctor, I am telling you that your best chance of both of you getting down that summit is for you to give him a bit of oxygen now, and then continuing as you were before. He is a strong climber, he will make it until the rescue arrives.”

 

It was obviously opinion and not fact, and it was hard to accept the decision when Altaïr saw how Shaun’s eyes began to clear and focus again after only a minute of breathing in the supplemental air. But Leonardo had never put them in danger before; he wouldn’t be asking Altaïr to do this unless he truly felt it was the best option available.

 

“…Alright. I’ve got the mask on him, I’ll give him a couple more minutes and then take it back,” he agreed with blatant reluctance.

 

“We’re almost there, Altaïr. Hang in there,” Desmond said, the wind nearly overpowering his voice even over the radio speaker. Altaïr clipped his radio back onto his jacket, focusing on keeping the oxygen mask on Shaun without moving too much. Jarring his leg at all was torture.

 

“What the h-hell were you thinking?” he asked once Shaun actually looked coherent again. “Do you have a death wish?”

 

“If I d-didn’t…you wouldn’t have had a snowball’s chance in hell,” Shaun pointed out, his words just the slightest bit slurred. “I couldn’t walk away when…when I knew I could do s-something. Desmond, he…he would have been crushed, if he lost you.”

 

Altaïr blinked in surprise; Shaun was in no condition to lie, and really, Altaïr wouldn’t have been surprised with an answer like ‘you dying up here would make all of us guides look bad’ or ‘it’s my job to try and save people up here’. But this selfless leap of faith, both for Altaïr and for Desmond, coming from _Shaun_ , of all people…it brought him up short. He didn’t even know what he could say that would be sufficient to cover exactly how he felt at this moment.

 

Then, it hit him harder than the wind in his face.

 

“ _Jesus_. You’re in love with h-him,” he blurted out, and Shaun tensed and looked away, as best he could with Altaïr’s hand still holding the mask firmly against his face.

 

“Y-You know, while I’m dying on a goddamn mountain, the last thing I want to do is dwell on the misery of unrequited feelings,” he said, probably aiming for an angry tone, but it came out more…defeated.

 

Altaïr was starting to feel lightheaded. He remembered Leonardo’s words, and though his mind was screaming at him to keep the oxygen on Shaun, he had promised he would do as asked. He reluctantly moved the mask back to his own nose and mouth, securing it in place. Shaun fumbled to do the same with his own mask, his hands shaking; even with no oxygen flowing, it was still a measure of

protection against frostbite in the relentless wind chill.

 

“For the record,” Altaïr said slowly, leaning back against the rock wall again. “Desmond would be just as upset if he lost you. Probably worse.”

 

Shaun didn’t look as if he believed a word of it. He leaned back next to Altaïr, closing his eyes for a few moments before forcing them open again. “M-Matthias Zurbriggen.”

 

“What?”

 

“First ascent of Aconcagua,” Shaun elaborated, and Altaïr didn’t have the mental strength to fight the obvious change of subject. They fell into the quizzing again, tossing questions about ascents and elevation back and forth.

 

The answers seemed to take longer and longer each time.

 


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a match of willpower versus a mountain, the odds are stacked against them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the third and final part. Thanks for reading!

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_When I rest I feel utterly lifeless except that my throat burns when I draw breath… I can scarcely go on. No despair, no happiness, no anxiety. I have not lost the mastery of my feelings, there are actually no more feelings. I consist only of will. After each few meters this too fizzles out in unending tiredness. Then I think nothing. I let myself fall, just lie there. For an indefinite time I remain completely irresolute. Then I make a few steps again. – Reinhold Messner_ **

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

If Desmond could have pushed his feet to move any faster, he would have. Unfortunately, with the wind trying to shove him off the knife’s edge cliff, the snow building up around his boots, and the frigid air finding any bare skin it could get to and freezing it, he was already pushed to his limit. He’d hit his wall of endurance, bounced off, hit it a few more times, and somehow he was miraculously still moving.

 

It had taken them nearly two hours since Altaïr first told them Shaun wasn’t doing well, but they were finally at the last small ridge below the Hillary Step. It was unbelievably cold, even with so many layers on, but all Desmond could think about was the fact that Shaun had been without oxygen for _hours_ now, in this storm.

 

Altaïr had been giving them updates, but none of them were good. It wasn’t as if Shaun or Altaïr would improve before they got there, after all. Last they heard, Altaïr had given Shaun a swift smack over the top of the head to keep him from drifting off.

 

Desmond let out a shaky breath of relief when he looked past Malik’s shoulder and saw the bright blue and bright red figures, half buried in snow, huddled at the base of the Step. The last few meters to get to them were pretty much torture, until Desmond finally dropped down to his knees in the snow beside Shaun and started digging in his jacket for the syringe he was carrying. Hopefully it was close enough to his body heat to have not frozen on the way here.

 

“Shaun, can you hear me?” he asked, and Shaun lifted his chin, just barely.

 

“Des…?” he said, his voice rough, unsteady. “T-Took you…long enough.”

 

“Sorry. Ran into t-traffic on the 405,” Desmond said, relieved to see that the syringe hadn’t frozen solid. “This is gonna hurt, buddy.”

 

It should have hurt. Desmond was more than slightly worried that Shaun barely reacted to a needle getting punched through the layers of cloth into his thigh. That done, he immediately started hooking up a fresh oxygen tank to Shaun’s mask.

 

Meanwhile, Malik, Rebecca, and Ezio were carefully helping Altaïr to his feet- or foot, in this case. At sea level, the three of them could have easily lifted him; at 29,000 feet above, it was like trying to haul a boulder across concrete. It took all their strength to get him upright, and by then he was breathing harshly, choking back a sob of agony as his leg was moved for the first time in hours.

 

“Okay, okay. Ezio, hold his leg by the knee and bend it back off the ground. Not quite to 90 degrees,” Rebecca said, sorting out the straps of the contraption she’d created. Ezio said a quick apology to Altaïr, and everyone winced at the ragged scream that tore from Altaïr’s throat as the Italian climber did as instructed and held his broken leg in position.

 

Rebecca knelt down in the shin deep snow and wrapped the harness in place above and below Altaïr’s knee, and then gestured to Malik. “On his right side. Stand right next to him,” she said, and when Malik was in place, she lifted the ropes connected to the harness and wrapped them up and over Malik’s opposite shoulder.

 

“W-Wait,” Altaïr choked out, clawing at his oxygen mask, pulling it out of the way just in time to avoid throwing up into it. Not that he had much in him to throw up; by the end he was just dry heaving from the pain, held up by Ezio and Malik on his good leg as Rebecca rubbed circles on his back.

 

“I know. I’m all done tying it up, now you just have to make it down, okay?” she said, and then she turned to Shaun and Desmond. “Des, how is he?”

 

“Not good,” Desmond said, and though Shaun was standing, he was leaning heavily against the rocks behind him. “I think he can walk, though. I’ll short rope him behind you guys.”

 

There was nothing Malik wanted to do more than sit down and rest, but it wasn’t an option. Even standing still for this long had allowed the cold to creep in and start to rob his hand and feet of sensation. He was careful to not move his shoulder too suddenly, turning to clip onto the fixed ropes with Altaïr’s arm locked around him.

 

“We’ve got this, Altaïr,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as exhausted as he felt. “You be my left arm, I’ll be your right leg.”

 

“Good job, guys,” Lucy’s voice piped up over the radio. “You made it up there, now I expect every single one of you to make it back down, you hear me?”

 

“Loud and clear, boss lady,” Rebecca said. “I’ll d-drag these wimps down there if I have to, over.”

 

It was like walking into a never ending, solid wall of snow and ice. Every step seemed to take forever, seemed to drain the last of Malik’s energy, and he could feel his shoulder on the verge of giving out under the weight more than once. But then he would look at Altaïr, see the pain lining his face, feel the way he was shaking…and he knew he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t give in. Altaïr was on his last thread of strength, and that thread was tied to Malik right now.

 

If he could hobble through this blizzard on one foot, Malik could share the load.

 

Rebecca took the lead this time, followed by Malik and Altaïr; behind them, Ezio kept careful watch on both the climbers ahead and Shaun and Desmond behind him. Desmond was short-roped to Shaun, loops of that rope held tightly in his free hand, keeping tension on the length to urge Shaun to keep moving forward. Shaun didn’t seem entirely coherent, but he was managing to take halting, unsteady steps in the right direction.

 

The span between the Hillary Step and the South Summit was a knife-edge ridge, and strangely enough, it was less intimidating when the visibility was near zero. In the dark, you couldn’t see the 8,000 foot drop off on one side, or the 11,000 foot drop off on the other side of the narrow path. The wind insistently tried to push the struggling climbers off the exposed rock ridge, but in this case, the thickly falling snow was their ally; being shin deep in snow was an excellent way of steadying each step. It was a tight squeeze at spots for Altaïr and Malik, walking two across, but taking it slow was the answer. One step at a time. The only sound other than the screaming wind was the gentle encouragement that both Malik and Desmond were giving to their charges.

 

“Just ten more steps,” Desmond urged. “Ten more steps, you can do it.”

 

And after that ten, another ten. And another.

 

More than once Altaïr begged to stop and rest, just for a few minutes, and every time Rebecca and Malik forced him to keep moving. There was no stopping to rest, not here, not now.

 

It was the slowest descent any of them had ever undertaken. It felt like it took hours to move ten steps forward. By the time they were two-thirds of the way back to camp four, Ezio had taken a turn at helping Altaïr, and then Malik got strapped back in when Ezio couldn’t force himself another step forward with the added weight. Honestly, both of them lasted longer with the extra burden than anyone expected them to, especially considering that the path down was littered with steep, rocky hills that had to be carefully negotiated.

 

It was on another knife’s edge ridge that disaster struck.

 

Desmond screamed Shaun’s name behind them, and Ezio turned in time to see Shaun completely collapse and start to slide. Desmond tried to brace himself for the sudden weight on the rope, but he was too exhausted, too weak; his feet came out from under him, and the fixed rope unraveled from where it had been wrapped around his arm while he’d tried to clip into a new section.

 

Ezio moved faster than he thought possible in these conditions; he dropped and let himself slide down enough to reach out and grab onto Desmond’s outstretched arm, and with his other he slammed his ice pick into the thick, wet snow, his teeth clacking together hard as the tip hit solid rock underneath. At first it didn’t catch, and he was sure they were going to slide right off the edge, but the pick finally hit a solid enough edge to stop them short.

 

“ _Merda_!” Ezio snapped through gritted teeth, fighting to hold on with the weight of two people on him, and suddenly he knew exactly how Altaïr ended up with a snapped leg- this was impossible. He couldn’t keep this up, with Desmond holding onto him, and Shaun attached to Desmond by a length of rope. His hands were mostly numb, leaving him with little gripping power to hold either Desmond or the climbing tool.

 

He was just about to lose his grip on the ice pick when Rebecca’s hands locked around his arm, her own harness clipped onto the post holding up the fixed rope. It was risky, but it was holding, for the moment; Ezio tried to get his feet under him on the steep slope, slowly edging his way up until Rebecca could slide her arms under his and help him haul himself up onto the ridge. They both fought to pull Desmond up, and then the short rope was their leverage for pulling Shaun back onto solid ground.

 

Shaun was dead weight at the end of the rope. Desmond knelt over him, one hand pressed to his chest, searching for any signs of life.

 

“Shaun! Shaun, come on, wake up, you can’t sleep now!” he snapped, grabbing Shaun by the shoulder and shaking him hard. Ezio let out the breath he’d been holding when Shaun muttered something indecipherable in reply.

 

“No. C-Come on, up. You’ve got to walk,” Desmond said, pulling at Shaun’s arm, trying to get him to stand up, or at least sit up.

 

“Can’t…f-feel my feet,” Shaun slurred out. “Too tired…”

 

“You’re almost there, you _can’t_ stop!”

 

“Des…”

 

Desmond made a sound low in his throat, like a stifled sob, and then-

 

He sat down. He dropped down in the snow next to Shaun, like his legs gave out from under him as the other four climbers looked on helplessly, and Shaun lifted his head barely an inch off the snow.

 

“D-Desmond…?”

 

“If you’re not going on, then I’m n-not either,” Desmond said, ignoring the curse that prompted from Ezio. “I’m not leaving you here.”

 

“ _Oh mio dio_ , Desmond, you can’t be serious-“ Ezio muttered, but Rebecca shot him a sharp look. There was a long moment when no one spoke- Desmond and Shaun locked gazes, the ultimatum hanging in the air.

 

It was the moment when Shaun realized that Desmond was serious- that he would _actually_ stay and die here on this mountain if Shaun didn’t move- that he fought every signal from his body that told him he could go no farther.

 

Malik didn’t think Shaun could do it. He’d seen people with altitude sickness this bad before, and once they went down, they stayed down. But somehow, with Ezio, Desmond, and Rebecca scrambling to help him, he stumbled to his feet, where he swayed and leaned on Desmond to stay upright.

 

Desmond leaned in, his goggles clicking against Shaun’s. “Whether you walk down this mountain or sit down on it to die, you w-won’t be doing it alone,” he said softly, barely loud enough to be heard over the wind. “So let’s get the hell off this mountain, because I want some god damn h-hot chocolate with some fucking marshmallows next to a nice warm fire. Alright?”

 

Shaun nodded once, and Malik adjusted his grip on Altaïr, who was leaning on him more and more with every moment, barely aware of the close call behind them. Rebecca slogged through the snow to get back in front, and Malik made sure Altaïr was ready before he started moving again, even slower than before.

 

A few minutes later, the radio came to life again. “Rescue team, this is Kadar, come in,” the voice said, and Rebecca grabbed her radio.

 

“We hear you, Kadar,” she said, her voice drained of any semblance of optimism it once had. They were all too tired even for that.

 

“I’ve gathered eleven climbers from the different teams here at camp four. We’re all pretty tired, but we’re pretty sure we can help you get Altaïr and Shaun down through the Geneva Spur and the Yellow Band, at least to camp three, over.”

 

It was one ray of sunlight in the vicious storm, at least, and the seemingly insurmountable odds had been tipped the slightest bit in their favor. “That’s great. I don’t know how much we’ve got left in us,” she managed to reply. “W-We can’t be far from camp now. Can’t see anything, but…we’ve been walking way too long. Still on the ropes. Shaun and Altaïr won’t make it much further.”

 

“We’ve got two helicopters headed to base camp,” Lucy interrupted, her voice the most cautiously optimistic that it had been this whole night. “If you guys can just make it down to camp two, they’ll be ready to do an emergency airlift to the hospital in Kathmandu for Altaïr and Shaun.”

 

Rebecca took a couple of deep breaths. Another step. “I don’t know if they’ll make it that far, Lucy.”

 

“Well, they’ve got to. That’s the highest the helicopters can go.”

 

“There’s no way they’ll make it down the Lhotse Face l-like this.”

 

“Just concentrate on getting everyone down to camp three, okay? One step at a time here,” Lucy said, and Rebecca snorted. They’d been repeating ‘one step at a time’ for nearly half a day now.

 

“Kadar, we’re not going to stop at camp four. We might not get back up if we stop. Have your guys r-ready to hop on the pain train as soon as we get there.”

 

“We’ll be ready. We’ve got some hot tea for you to sip on, too.”

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_I have not conquered Everest, it has merely tolerated me. -Peter Habeler_ **

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

Malik had never been more proud of his brother.

 

The storm was finally letting up and the sun was peeking over the horizon by the time they stumbled into camp four. It would have been so, so easy to grab a thermos of hot tea and collapse into one of the tents, but Kadar knew better than to let them- and he already had the Sherpas and volunteers from the different teams organized and ready to go.

 

As Malik switched off to let Ezio take a shift helping Altaïr, each one of them were given a hot thermos of tea to warm them up and hydrate them a little. Shaun could barely stay on his feet with Desmond’s help, let alone hold the thermos; Desmond made sure he got some of it down, though. The tea was enough to start to bring back feeling to fingers that had gone numb; if feeling didn’t come back, well, that was a sign you may not have those fingers for much longer.

 

As soon as roles were sorted and the tea drank, they were on the move again, forced onto feet that felt as if they couldn’t take a single step more.

 

The Sherpas had set up a modified rope system going down from camp four to camp three, making the move between the two camps fairly quick and smooth, once they worked out how to used the system with Altaïr strapped to Ezio.

 

Shaun was halfway down when he lost consciousness again, going limp in the ropes as Desmond yelled for help- and this time, Desmond couldn’t wake him. Malik was waiting at the bottom of the ropes and helped Desmond unhook him, laying him out carefully on the snow.

 

“Shit. _Shit_ ,” Desmond snapped, leaning in close and tugging the oxygen mask off Shaun’s face. He sighed in relief when he felt that Shaun was still breathing, albeit shallow and weak. Altaïr sat on a rocky outcropping nearby, resting with Ezio after the descent, and he called Desmond’s name.

 

“Rope him into a sleeping bag,” he said, his voice hardly recognizable, even though the oxygen tanks and masks were gone now, no longer necessary at the elevation of camp three. “Have them lower him down the face in it. Only way he’s getting to c-camp two.”

 

Desmond nodded and started getting people moving gathering the necessary gear, his voice almost frantic by now. “And what about you?” Malik asked, concerned at how pale and shaky Altaïr was.

 

“Gonna have to d-do one hell of a belay with one foot. Can’t stuff my leg into a sleeping b-bag.”

 

“Do you have the strength left over for it?”

 

“No,” Altaïr said, his shoulders slumped as he looked toward the path to camp two. “But I don’t have a choice. It’s either do it, or s-stay on this mountain and freeze. I don’t plan on f-freezing.”

 

Malik trudged through the snow to stand in front of Altaïr, reaching out to clasp his shoulder with his hand. “It’s the last part of the climb. You do this, and help is waiting,” he said.

 

Altaïr chuckled breathlessly. “H-Have to make it down s-so I can thank Shaun and kick his ass.”

 

Malik smirked. “You and me both.”

 

Altaïr lifted his head to look at Malik, and then reached up and out his hand over Malik’s. “I h-haven’t thanked you yet, either,” he said, looking almost sheepish. “This was _incredibly_ reckless, don’t g-get me wrong, but…I owe you.”

 

“No. We are even,” Malik pointed out. “You saved Kadar’s life. I am returning the favor.”

 

Altaïr nodded, and then swayed and groaned, moving his hand to press it against his forehead. Malik frowned, then called for the people readying the belay ropes.

 

“Come on. Let’s get you moving. Rest is only going to hurt you right now,” he said, ducking to grab the rope holding his friend’s knee and wrap his arm around his waist, forcing him up to his feet. Altaïr groaned in pain, clutching at Malik so tightly that his grip hurt even through the thick coat and gloves.

 

The Lhotse Face was intimidating even on the ascent, when the climbers still had most of their strength to call on. Now, even for the four without major injuries, it looked like an insurmountable obstacle.

 

Malik and Ezio got Altaïr strapped into the modified belay system, and then Malik led the way down, with Ezio descending right below Altaïr in case he were to slip. Rebecca and two Sherpas stayed at the top of the face, feeding the rope and watching for any problems. Altaïr slipped more than once, his slide always arrested by Ezio below and the tightening of the rope above; twice, Altaïr stopped his descent altogether, unable to summon any strength to continue. It was those times that Malik yelled encouragement from below, and then threats.

 

The second time, Altaïr set his goggles against the ice face and stopped answering, his body shaking so hard that the ropes were trembling. It was then that a climber in a familiar grey and red coat unclipped from the ropes not too far above, using an ice pick to free climb down to Altaïr’s side.

 

It was Kadar.

 

The younger climber used his crampons to kick sturdy footholds in the ice, and then shoved his ice pick firmly into place and clipped into the fixed rope before grabbing onto Altaïr’s shoulder with one gloved hand.

 

“You’re almost there,” he said, nodding his head downward. “You wouldn’t let _me_ stop here, would you? You have another ten meters, at most. You can do this. Come on, I’ll climb down with you.”

 

Altaïr didn’t move at first, still shaking from both the strain of the climb and the obvious pain. But then, slowly, he lifted his head from the ice and looked down, hands getting a better grip on the rope, one by one.

 

“That’s it,” Kadar said, and Malik could hear the grin in his voice. “That’s it. One meter at a time. You’re so close, you’ve got this.”

 

The rhythm picked back up, slower than before. Altaïr’s shifts down the ice were halting, unsteady, but every time he paused for too long, Kadar was urging him onward.

 

Finally, _finally_ , they reached flat ground again, where climbers who hadn’t made their summit bid were waiting with stretchers and hot tea for the climbers still on their feet.

 

Ezio caught sight of Leonardo in his red and navy coat, striding toward them with his medical pack thrown over his shoulder, and the Italian climber felt a sudden last burst of strength. Granted, he wasn’t exactly running across the snow, but he trudged quite a bit faster until he got to his boyfriend.

 

But he stopped short of the hug that Malik thought he was going for, and instead Ezio dropped down to one knee in the snow; Malik was already moving, sure the Italian climber was collapsing, but then Ezio grabbed both of Leonardo’s hands in his.

 

“For God’s sake, Leonardo, fucking _marry me_ already,” he said, and Leonardo blinked in surprise, then laughed and leaned over to kiss him.

 

“Alright. Alright, fine, I will,” he said, and Ezio pulled him into another relieved kiss.

 

“Oh my god, stop molesting the doctor so he can treat the patients,” Kadar said, rolling his eyes and giving Ezio a halfhearted kick to the leg. Between Leonardo and Kadar, they managed to get Ezio back to his feet, and Kadar helped him stumble to the nearest chair while Leonardo moved to where Altaïr was sitting in the snow.

 

“Altaïr, my friend. Tell me, what day is it?” Leonardo asked, kneeling next to the injured climber.

 

“May 21st.”

 

“Good. Can you feel your fingers and toes? Move them at all?”

 

“Can’t feel my left ring finger at all,” Altaïr said, and Malik smacked him on the shoulder as Leonardo frowned.

 

“Don’t be a smartass. You don’t _have_ your left ring finger.”

 

Altaïr managed a smirk. “Well, he _asked_.”

 

“I can see cognitive function has recovered at lower elevation,” Leonardo said with an amused look. “I’m not going to try and get a look at your leg. The first helicopter will be here very soon, we need to get you on it.”

 

“No,” Altaïr said, shaking his head. “No, they’re lowering Shaun right behind me. He needs to go first, he passed out just before camp three,” he added, and Leonardo looked down at his phone to check the time.

 

“He’s been out for hours,” Malik said, answering the unasked question. “I agree with Altaïr, for once. Shaun needs to be on the first chopper. They’ve nearly got him all the way down now.”

 

“Well then, I’ll just give you something for the pain. It won’t be long before the second helicopter can make a run up here.”

 

It was probably the most relieved that Malik had ever seen Altaïr when Leonardo gave him a shot of morphine before moving on to where the other climbers had just reached the base of the Lhotse Face and were unstrapping the ropes from the sleeping bag holding the unconscious Brit. Desmond was right there the whole time, face grim as he spoke with Leonardo; Malik made sure Altaïr would be alright before he forced himself to cross the short distance to hear what they were saying.

 

“You gave him a dose of Dex, and he’s had oxygen since you arrived at the Step?” Leonardo was asking, and Desmond nodded.

 

“Yeah. The Dex got him up and moving, but he…never really came all the way back, mentally.”

 

Leonardo took Shaun’s pulse with a frown, and then checked to see if his pupils were reacting to light at all. He was all business now, grabbing his radio and cuing it up. “Lucy, this is Leonardo, come in.”

 

“I hear you, over.”

 

“How long on the first helicopter? One of our climbers is critical, we need to get him to a lower elevation as quickly as possible.”

 

“Ten minutes. Fifteen, tops. Have him on a stretcher and ready to go just below the camp. The pilot can only take the patient, no extra weight; we’re pushing it as is with the stretcher added in.”

 

“Leo, he’s gonna be okay, right?” Desmond asked, his voice raw, and not just from the cold and exhaustion. Leonardo held Desmond’s gaze for only a moment before looking away.

 

“The sooner we get him to a hospital, the better,” he said, and Malik swallowed hard at the absolutely heartbroken expression on Desmond’s face.

 

If not even Leonardo could manage to be optimistic, you knew it was bad.

 

There was no time to dwell on it, though. The next few minutes were all spent moving Shaun to a stretcher and securing him on it, and then the group carried him down to where a makeshift landing area had been created for the helicopter. Malik went back to Altaïr, having done as much as he could to help.

 

“How’s Shaun?” Altaïr immediately asked, and Malik sighed. No point in lying about it.

 

“Not good,” he said, sitting down by Altaïr’s broken leg, his mind conjuring up an awful picture of how bad it must look after so many hours of moving him around. Altaïr’s jaw tightened and he looked down at his leg angrily.

 

“He shouldn’t have come up to help me without enough oxygen,” he muttered.

 

“I would have done the same,” Malik said, and Altaïr lifted his head to give Malik a confused look.

 

“Why? So I could watch you waste away in my stead?”

 

Malik swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Because…when I imagine losing yet more of myself to these mountains, it is nothing in comparison to how I would feel losing _you_ instead, you insufferable novice.”

 

Altaïr stared in shock. “I…thought you hated me.”

 

And there was Malik’s fear confirmed. All this time he’d held such anger at himself that he never imagined the extent of the guilt Altaïr harbored, and how Malik’s own behavior must have fed into it. “I don’t hate you, Altaïr. I never have.”

 

“You would be justified to-“

 

“No. No, I would not. What happened on Denali was just as much my fault as yours.”

 

“Malik…”

 

“It needs to be said. Should have been said sooner,” Malik said, Altaïr’s gold eyes filled with hurt, and guilt, still. “You were overconfident. I was complacent. I can’t share in the success of our early summits and not share in the failures as well. You were not entirely to blame.”

 

“Malik, the other chopper will be here soon, we need to move Altaïr to the landing site!” Kadar called out from the edge of the camp, and Malik nodded and waved him on. When Kadar turned away, Malik steeled his will, turned back to Altaïr, and then leaned in and kissed him lightly.

 

“I don’t hate you, and I never will, Altaïr,” he said, watching as Altaïr’s eyes widened further in surprise. “I’ve been a fool to let you feel that I did, all these years.”

 

The distinctive sound of a cell phone camera going off shattered whatever ‘moment’ they had going, and Malik fixed a glare on Ezio, who stood nearby with Leonardo’s cell phone pointed at them- and Leonardo standing next to him, one hand covering his face, probably out of embarrassment at Ezio’s antics. Ezio just grinned and waved.

 

“Sorry to spoil the romance, but the helicopter will be here soon,” he said, obviously not bothered by the glare focused on him. Malik sighed, turning back to Altaïr to ask him if he was ready to go- and instead he got pulled into a much more thorough kiss than the first.

 

At least this time Ezio didn’t get a chance to snap a picture before Leonardo snatched his phone back.

 

“Come on. Let’s get you to that helicopter,” Malik said, reluctantly breaking the kiss. Altaïr sighed, and accepted Malik’s help standing up on his good leg; at least the pain was distant and dulled now, thanks to the morphine.

 

“I suppose I’ll see you in Kathmandu…?”

 

Malik nodded. The helicopter couldn’t take any extra weight, and the only other way out from the south side was to hike back; unlike the north side of Everest, there was no road basically running right up to base camp. “I’ll hike back as quick as I can. I’m sure Desmond will want to get back quickly too.”

 

Malik nodded to Ezio and Leonardo, who had been waiting for just that cue, and they moved in to help steady Altaïr on the walk across camp to where a giant “X” was spray painted on the thick snow for the helicopters to see the makeshift landing zone. And even though the ordeal was far from over, seeing the helicopter come over that ledge was like the final chapter in a harrowing book.

 

The only question left was if the epilogue would close a tragedy or a story of triumph.

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_The first question which you will ask and which I must try to answer is this, 'What is the use of climbing Mount Everest ?' and my answer must at once be, 'It is no use'. There is not the slightest prospect of any gain whatsoever. Oh, we may learn a little about the behavior of the human body at high altitudes, and possibly medical men may turn our observation to some account for the purposes of aviation. But otherwise nothing will come of it. We shall not bring back a single bit of gold or silver, not a gem, nor any coal or iron. We shall not find a single foot of earth that can be planted with crops to raise food. It's no use. So, if you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain and goes out to meet it, that the struggle is the struggle of life itself upward and forever upward, then you won't see why we go. What we get from this adventure is just sheer joy. And joy is, after all, the end of life. We do not live to eat and make money. We eat and make money to be able to enjoy life. That is what life means and what life is for. - George Mallory_ **

* ~~~~~~ *

The room was quiet except for the steady beep and hiss of the machines hooked up to the redhead in the narrow bed by the window. The other three beds in the room were empty now, a couple of patients having come and gone- one under his own power, and another in a body bag. That hadn’t been an encouraging moment.

 

Desmond sat in a chair by that farthest bed, elbows set on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in front of his face as he watched Shaun for any sign of life. Both of Shaun’s hands and feet were wrapped in thick white bandages; Desmond didn’t want to even think about the darkened skin of his fingers and toes from the frostbite. They wouldn’t know for another few days, at least, if any would have to be removed entirely. There was a chance, however slim, that the tissues weren’t completely dead, in which case it would be a slow recovery- probably with some loss of sensation, but that would be better than amputation.

 

The doctors were less optimistic about the cerebral edema caused by the altitude sickness. It was the final stage of altitude sickness before death set in; the brain literally swelled, and the only remedy was getting to a lower elevation as quickly as possible.

 

All Desmond could do was hope that they had been quick enough getting Shaun off that damn mountain. He’d been over and over the situation in his mind, everything that happened, wondering if he could have pushed Shaun to go a little bit faster- maybe recruited even more help getting them from camp four to camp two- but in the end, he knew they had done the best they could. They had pulled off what most people said was an impossible rescue in the first place, and it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that it might cost someone their life.

 

But why did it have to be _Shaun_?

 

Sitting here, seeing the straps securing the tubes in place down his throat, the wires and IVs leading to the machines keeping him alive, hearing the steady _hiss-click_ of the ventilator as it kept him breathing- Desmond would have done anything to trade places with him.

 

The only bright side of any of this was the fact that they didn’t have to worry about scraping together the money for hospital bills or travel back home; the fact that their rescue got live updated to national news agencies meant that the general public was eating up every single bit of news about what happened on that mountain. Someone had gotten an online fundraiser going, and it had taken less than a day for enough funds to be donated to cover the hospital and travel expenses for everyone on the rescue team. Maybe the stupid reality show hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

 

Now he just had to hope they wouldn’t have to put that money toward funeral expenses instead.

 

He shook his head as if to clear it of the unwelcome thought, dropping his hands from his face and reaching out to set one carefully on Shaun’s arm, above the heavy bandages swathed around his hand. “C’mon, Shaun. You promised you’d climb Nanga Parbat with me next year. First winter ascent, show everyone we’re not just glorified tour guides,” he said softly, his voice gritty with exhaustion. “You’re so much better than me at the technical ascents, I’m not goin’ without you.”

 

No response; not that he’d expected one. Just the silence of the room, broken by the steady sounds of the ventilator and heart rate monitor.

 

A soft knock on the open door finally pulled Desmond’s attention from the comatose climber; he turned in his chair to see Malik standing in the doorway, and he leaned back in his chair. “Come on in,” he said, and Malik hesitated a moment longer before crossing the room to them.

 

“How is he?” he asked, brow furrowed with a frown as he saw all the machines and bandages.

 

“Still in a coma,” Desmond muttered, wincing at the ache in his back as he shifted in his chair. “But the doctors think he might get to keep all his fingers and toes. Frostbite wasn’t as advanced as we thought.”

 

He couldn’t help the fact that his eyes landed on Malik’s missing left arm as he said it. If Malik noticed, though, he didn’t say anything.

 

“That’s good,” he said, shifting his weight uncomfortably and clearing his throat. “I…I’m sorry it turned out like this. He wouldn’t have gone had I not insisted on a rescue.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” Desmond said, trying to give Malik a reassuring look. “He knew it was a risk when he volunteered. For him, especially. We all did. And hell, we succeeded, didn’t we?”

 

Malik didn’t look entirely convinced. “If he doesn’t make it, Altaïr will never forgive himself,” he said, the words forced out. Desmond’s breath caught, and he turned back to look at Shaun.

 

“He’ll make it. He didn’t hang on this long just to die now,” he insisted, though his voice didn’t sound convincing, even to himself. He felt his throat getting tight, and he changed the subject quickly, swallowing hard. “How is Altaïr?”

 

“Frustrated. And heavily drugged,” Malik said with a tired chuckle. “They put a metal plate and eight screws in his leg. They told him it’ll be months before he walks unassisted again, let alone climb anything, and you can imagine how that went over.”

 

“Like a lead balloon.”

 

“To say the least. He told them he’ll be summiting Annapurna next year as planned, and that he’d send them a picture from the summit with some choice gestures thrown in for good measure,” Malik said with a smile.

 

“Not surprised,” Desmond said, managing to return the smile, albeit weakly. Malik sighed, looking at Shaun for a few long moments.

 

“I should get back to Altaïr. He can be a terror for the poor nurses,” he said, though his tone was as much fond as it was exasperated. “I’ll have my phone on me. Let me know if anything changes, will you?”

 

Desmond nodded. “Yeah. Tell Altaïr I expect to get invited on that Annapurna summit. Me _and_ Shaun. You know, now that we’re all pretty much fired and all.”

 

‘Pretty much’ because while their companies hadn’t outright fired them- they couldn’t exactly fire them when the news and the general public seemed infatuated with the young risk takers- they had been put on an ‘indefinite leave’ for recovery. None of them had any illusions that they would be invited back to lead more tours. Successful or not, this rescue had broken every rule in all of the rule books they’d ever been given.

 

“I’ll let him know,” Malik said, and then he patted Desmond on the shoulder and started to walk away. He hesitated at the doorway, though, looking back over his shoulder. “Desmond?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Altaïr told me that…when he was waiting with Shaun, he asked him why he’d come back to help him, knowing he would run out of oxygen,” Malik said, each word spoken carefully, and with a great deal of thought. “And Shaun said something to the effect of not wanting you to go through losing a family member. That part of why he did it was for you. And I’m not telling you this, breaking this confidence, to make you feel guilty, but…because I thought it is important that you know how much you mean to him.”

 

Desmond stared down at Shaun, his hands tightening on the rough hospital bed sheets as Malik’s words sunk in. Part of him was ecstatic at the thought that maybe, just maybe, they could move beyond ‘friends’ into something _more_. The other part of him was furious that it took this much to get them there- that Shaun may very well be lying on his deathbed, having never said anything.

 

“There were other things said, but…I believe they would be best heard from him. When he wakes up,” Malik added, and Desmond nodded. When he woke up. When, not if.

 

“Thank you, Malik,” he said, his voice softer than before.

 

With that, Malik, left the room quietly, leaving Desmond with the steady sounds of the machines keeping his friend clinging to life.

 

Desmond leaned forward against the bed once more, this time folding his arms on the edge of it and laying his head down on them. He was exhausted, his body still aching from the beating it had taken on the mountain; it wasn’t long before he drifted to sleep, one hand gently gripping Shaun’s arm just above the bandages.

 

When he woke up again, there was no light coming in through the window. He lifted his head, and it took his a few moments to figure out what woke him up- he felt movement under his hand.

 

He snapped fully awake at that, eyes locking on Shaun. The previously comatose climber was awake, though he looked confused and only half conscious. He was aware enough to have gotten Desmond’s attention by moving his arm, though, since the tubes in his throat made speech impossible.

 

“Shaun!” Desmond said with a grin. “You complete _asshole_ , do you know how much you scared me?”

 

Shaun blinked slowly. He was probably on some damn good drugs, given the foggy look he had as he tried to parse Desmond’s words. Desmond didn’t even care; he smacked the button for the nurses’ station, standing up and leaning over his friend.

 

“You are never allowed to do that again, you hear me? Next time you scare me like that on a fuckin’ mountain, I’m gonna shove a handful of ice down your pants.”

 

Shaun was coherent enough to roll his eyes at that.

 

Desmond tried to calm his racing heart, gently taking hold of Shaun’s face with both hands and as he leaned over to kiss him lightly on the forehead. Shaun made a soft sound, though not one of protest, and Desmond set his own forehead lightly against Shaun’s, just taking it all in for a moment.

 

Shaun was awake. He’d pulled through.

 

Against all odds, they were all going to be alright.

 

“So, how about that Nanga Parbat summit next winter…?” he said with a smile.

 

For that, he received a weak smack from one heavily bandaged hand.

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_You've climbed the highest mountain in the world. What's left? It's all downhill from there. You've got to set your sights on something higher than Everest. — Willi Unsoeld_ **

 

* ~~~ **One Year Later** ~~~ *

 

“I swear to God, Desmond, if you don’t point that bloody camera away from me, I’m going to shove you off this summit when we get there.”

 

“The camera is attached to my headgear. You want me to just not look at you for the rest of the trip?”

 

“You act as if I enjoy seeing your face in the first place.”

 

“You definitely weren’t complaining about my face at base camp when I was sucking your d-“

 

“ _Desmond_ ,” Malik snapped, giving him a sharp look. “Your reality show is not rated NC-17.”

 

Desmond very nearly pouted. “They can bleep it out.”

 

“They can only bleep out so much before your show starts sounding like the emergency broadcast system,” Altaïr pointed out with a chuckle, jerking his thumb toward the steep rocks ahead. “Now, would you ladies like to summit this mountain, or go have tea time instead?”

 

“I think they would rather remain here to have steamy hate sex against the rocks,” Ezio said, already wrapping the rope around one arm and starting slowly up the last outcropping. Rebecca scoffed.

 

“Says the guy who was in the next tent over like ‘ _Oh, Leo!_ ’ half the night before we left base camp-“

 

“Why did I agree to this? Why,” Malik said, making a good effort at pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, even over thick goggles. “Why am I on a mountain in the death zone with five immature, perverted climbers?”

 

“Because you secretly love it,” Altaïr pointed out, tugging down his own oxygen mask- then he reached over, tugged Malik’s oxygen mask down off his face, and gave him a firm, quick kiss before following Ezio and Rebecca up the slope.

 

“That’s what you’d like to think,” Malik muttered, not very convincingly, as he tugged his mask back up into place.

 

Despite the pause for bickering, it wasn’t long before they finally climbed the last few meters to the summit of Annapurna, just in time for the sun to break over the mountains to the east. The peaks around them poked through the clouds like islands in a white, fluffy sea, and when Malik turned to the west, the peak of Annapurna cast a pointed, dark shadow in sharp contrast against the white of the clouds and snow.

 

He’d climbed so many mountains in his lifetime, but he never lost that sense of wonder, seeing things from the summit.

 

With the weather uncharacteristically cooperative, they had time to enjoy the summit for a few minutes before they would have to head back down. They spent the time resting, admiring the view, and of course, taking pictures of everyone with the magnificent view in the background. In one of the pictures, Altaïr took off both his gloves, promptly giving the camera the middle finger with both hands right as the shutter went off.

 

“Really?” Malik asked, giving him a look. Altaïr just smiled.

 

“When we get back home, remind me to print that out and mail it to the doctors in Kathmandu. “

 

“I can’t believe you even remembered that.”

 

“I always remember the threats I make.”

 

Ezio just looked confused. “What did I miss…?”

 

“Nothing. Nothing important, anyway,” Desmond said, wrapping one arm around Shaun’s waist and tugging him in close. “Come on, you guys. Let’s get down this mountain so my boyfriend can enjoy my face some more.”

 

Shaun laughed. “You’re on the summit of a mountain with a 32 percent mortality rate, and that’s all you can think about?”

 

“Are you really complaining?”

 

Malik shook his head at their antics, turning in time to see Altaïr wander a short distance away and sit on a small patch of bare rock. He was looking out over the mountain peaks, one hand rubbing up and down his right leg, where under layers of cloth there was still a rather impressive scar- and a lingering pain. Malik walked over to him, sitting down beside him on the rock.

 

“Is it painful today?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Altaïr didn’t like the others to know when his leg was giving him trouble, even if none of them would give him a hard time about it.

 

“No more than usual,” he replied, and when Malik raised an eyebrow at him, he sighed. “Okay, slightly more than usual.”

 

“We can bring up the rear on the way down. We’re ahead of schedule, we don’t have to rush,” Malik said. They sat in comfortable silence for a few long moments before Altaïr spoke again.

 

“I felt like I deserved to lose it, you know.”

 

Malik tilted his head. “What?”

 

“My leg,” Altaïr continued, looking down at it. “I felt like…it wasn’t fair. You lost your arm because of my idiocy, and when I was put in the same position, I ended up lucky. It should have been you, to not have to suffer as much.”

 

Malik shifted on the rock to face Altaïr. “Altaïr…you saved my brother’s life. Even if I had held you entirely responsible for what happened on Denali, which I _didn’t_ , the fact that you saved Kadar more than made up for any transgressions. You’re not the same man who went with me to Denali. You’ve grown. You’ve changed.”

 

“I…wish I had the same faith in myself that you do in me, Malik.”

 

“You will, someday,” Malik said firmly, bumping Altaïr’s shoulder with his own. “Come on now. There’s no one I feel safer descending this mountain with than you. Let’s go home, Altaïr.”

 

Altaïr smiled and got to his feet with a slight wince, and then helped Malik to his feet as well. For one moment longer, they just enjoyed the view of the sun rising over the Himalayas, much like it had risen over the summit of Everest only a year before.

 

But this time, they had summited together; and though broken and battered from the past, Malik had no doubt that they would leave this mountain together, even if it seemed against all odds. After all, in the aftermath of Everest, they had made a pact, all six of them.

 

No one gets left behind.

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 

**_It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves. – Edmund Hillary_ **

 

* ~~~~~~ *

 


End file.
